


Royally Fucked

by miltonicsimile



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempt at Humor, Blackmail, Childhood Friends, Elections, Enemies to Lovers, Fate, M/M, Modern Royalty, Political Alliances, Slow Burn, Smut, dotae, theyre both purposefully dramatic at start lol it tones down, this is just peak aquarius x cancer interaction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:55:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 52,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23240566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miltonicsimile/pseuds/miltonicsimile
Summary: With his childhood best friend turned arch-nemesis running in the presidential elections, Prince Taeyong thinks things can't get any worse. Unfortunately, it does. It turns out Kim Doyoung is technically illegible for the presidential position due to the fact he's married .... to the prince. Oops.A Korean translation is now available!
Relationships: Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung/Lee Taeyong
Comments: 147
Kudos: 673





	1. The Beginning of the End

**Author's Note:**

> Okay....modern royalty au....setting this up was a nightmare so bear with me.
> 
> New history to make this fucking fic work:  
> During the colonial occupation by Imperial Japan (1910-1945) the Korean royal family were held as political prisoners, living under the guard of Japanese forces. 
> 
> Post-WW2 when Korea was liberated and democracy declared (aug 1945) instead of president Lee Seungman taking away royal wealth and nationalizing their possessions (irl this lead to poverty and eventual homelessness etc for them) the royal family’s position was elevated as a national symbol of power and identity. They became icons for the newly divided south Korea, being pressured by American politics (puke) to support "democracy" and to work hard to reform their identity. 
> 
> Eventually, American power began to ebb post-Korean war (did it tho). But as a constitutional monarchy (not unlike England’s) the royal family remained primarily figureheads and the elected president consulting with them mostly out of respect and custom. The royal family has no real political power besides pushing messages of nationalism and patriotism, with members becoming pop icons across Asia, and as time progressed, internationally in the 21st century. Today, they mostly engage in important work in the areas of public and charitable service and helping to strengthen national unity and stability.
> 
> this is the [Deoksugung palace](https://www.theseoulguide.com/sights/palaces/deoksugung-palace/) imagine its like...modernized as necessary and highly secured.....imagine.....i know u can do it....
> 
> I'm begging you....dont look for loopholes bc there are lots
> 
> but like don't take anything too seriously this is all in good fun, all opinions are mine etc and actually did research for this which is like sad bc i have school to be doing (from home)
> 
> also full disclosure: this is extremely self-indulgent, 100% unrealistic and vaguely out-of-character but I’m the writer & I can do what I want and what I want is for these idiots to be in love but fight it and then reconnect & make out lol

The thing about living in a protected national historic site is that there are so many rules.

You can’t rearrange furniture without consultation and consent. You can’t use any medical-grade disinfectant on the doorknobs. You can’t touch most of the artifacts that have sat in the same place since the end of the colonial occupation. You can’t even dust when you can see that a visible layer has accumulated on the handle of the ornate hwando on the wall.

Not even if you’re the prince.

Instead, Taeyong busies himself reorganizing the meeting table. He stacks the papers, ensuring all the edges align neatly. He lays out the pens by colour, black, blue, then green - never red. Then he sorts them by length, the longest on the left and shortest on the right.

“Do you want some water?”

Taeyong looks up at his sister, who is sitting across from him in a white blouse with a purple peter pan collar. It will surely be trending within the next week.

She is looking at him with soft eyes. It’s a look reserved just for him and his nephew. Not even her husband gets this.

“No, thank you.” He says, sitting up straight and adjusting the shoulders of his blue blazer. It’s custom Givenchy from a campaign he ran with them the season prior. They designed a patriotic silk pocket square to accompany it. That’s part of the terms of their private company representations, it must include symbols of national strength. Or something.

The real question goes unspoken. Taeyong knows his worries manifest so obviously to those who know him. And his sister knows him better than most.

The room goes back to silence, except for his sister’s perfectly manicured nails tapping away at her phone. Always working.

They’re in the Situation Room located in Seokjojeon Hall, one of the only western-style buildings at Deoksugung Palace. Completed at the turn of the 20th century, it feels like a slightly smaller British palace. It has been updated a few times since the 1950s too. After the ROK constitutional democracy was declared and the royal family moved out of Gyeongbokgung, the main palace, to this one.

It makes him sad just to think about the main palace, how over three-quarters of its buildings were destroyed by Japanese colonial authorities to erect their own government offices with geomantic intent. That had been when they renamed Seoul as Keijo, or Kyongsong in Korean. A history that seems so far away to Taeyong, and yet is still so recent to many who lived through it.

Regardless, looking at the room around him, the western influence is clear. Taeyong knows what European royalty live like, having visited a fair number of palaces and estates on his many diplomatic trips since he was a child. This part of the palace is as good as any of the ones in Europe.

Finally, their father walks in. He's followed by a flurry of top officials that Taeyong knows all by name. These are the people who work side by side with the king and the elected president to make things run smoothly. Mostly to make sure the king stays up to date on what the president is doing, and that the public image of the royal family stays pristine. There are fewer officials than normal, some gone with the queen on a tour of southwest Asia, visiting schools and the like.

Behind them, three unknown official-looking people file in. Together, they all congregate around the table.

Taeyong and his sister stand.

Everyone turns to the king and bows low. A figurehead or not, the king is the _king_ and Korea, divided or not, has always been entrenched with tradition and custom. Ritual propriety is still valued just like familial piety, years of war and even division cannot erase the foundations of their society and culture.

“Thank you for joining me today,” the king says after his formal remarks are made. He takes a seat. They all follow. “As you know, the presidential electoral season is upon us. An exciting time for all, and I am eager to work with the next president in harmony for their five-year term. However, an issue has arisen.”

The election is always a momentous issue. Taeyong’s memories of past elections are entrenched with the dissonance of his father’s public neutral façade and private worries about what new direction and leader he will have to support for five years. And this presidential election is no different. Except, that is for _who_ has joined the running. Which Taeyong has been purposefully ignoring. He doesn’t need to dwell on foolish worst-case scenarios.

With the election topic presented, he’s still lost. Taeyong doesn’t know why he’s here. He doesn’t know why he was summoned through Jaehyun (who now stands dutifully by the door) to come to the Situation Room, a place reserved for dealing with crises or scandals. He’s been sweating and fidgeting for the past hour. If there is an election issue, he doesn’t know why the dealing of it should include _him_.

One of the official-looking women with glasses that Taeyong doesn’t recognize nods and clears her throat. “As you know, Kim Doyoung has joined the leading party as the youngest candidate.”

Taeyong stiffens in his seat.

Immediately, his sister’s eyes dart to him.

“His running is unprecedented, but Mr. Kim hopes to spread positive messages of strength and reach out to the younger populace. But I am not here to promote his or his party’s campaign goals.”

Unprecedented meaning that Kim Doyoung is the youngest candidate in the history of the country at twenty-five. It’s unheard of and ridiculous, considering the man’s quite public past. Even with a father who had been the speaker of the national assembly twenty years ago, Kim Doyoung’s candidacy is exceptional and has been met with mixed reactions.

Taeyong watches the woman as she collects her breath, waiting for whatever issue around _Kim Doyoung_ that could possibly require a _royal_ response. One that includes _him_. Taeyong hasn’t even talked to the younger man in _years_ , has spent every function that they mutually attended using Jaehyun as a spotter to help avoid him at all costs. Quite successfully, too.

“The issue that has arisen is that of his eligibility.”

Across the table, his sister raises a perfectly waxed straight eyebrow.

“An examination of Mr. Kim’s documents and corresponding royal ones has been completed which is why we have need to meet. After extensive legal consultation and analysis, along with that of palace historians, a conclusion has been drawn.”

Taeyong is having a hard time following where this is going amongst the cryptic bare-bone summary. He blinks expectantly.

“It appears Kim Doyoung and Prince Lee Taeyong have been legally married since May 3rd, 2003.”

It’s as if he swallows a ball of lead. A twist of dread so heavy lands in his stomach, it’s staggering. Taeyong’s hands grip the edge of the table to steady himself, knuckles white as the entire room looks at him.

“What?” He chokes. He’s fighting every instinct to run out of the room, out of this Hall, to lock himself in his bedroom across the palace grounds. “There must be a mistake. That’s impossible.”

"How did this happen?” His sister asks incredulously.

Taeyong knows. The memories hit him full force. He hates it, but he _knows_.

The woman, likely Kim Doyoung’s lawyer, adjusts her glasses. “I realize the ages when this occurred is a concern, but unfortunately, due to the Prince’s status, it is quite possible. The royal family has been granted the power to marry whomever they wish without…normal restriction or custom. There are many royal exceptionalities still existing. The documents are legally binding.”

“Son,” the king says, brows knitted together. He sounds like the perfect diplomat, even now. Even when it’s his own son’s disastrous mistake he’s being forced to deal with. Shamed by. “Please explain how this happened. How did no one know of this until now?”

“I’m sorry.” Taeyong reaches out and shuffles the papers in front of him once more. He takes a deep breath. He has disappointed his father, has done so much damage. In a small voice, he offers, “we were just kids.”

“Clearly,” his sister scoffs from across the table. She’s being flippant, but it’s not ill-intended. She’s confused and scared. Scared for _him_. She’s always worried about him and tried to protect him, seeing it as her duty being seven years older.

“That date… it was when auntie got married. Do you remember?” Taeyong says softly. It had been a huge event. But hell, it wasn’t every day the king’s younger sister married a commoner, a businessman in the tech industry. A damn _chaebol_ , but still. The country treated it as a huge celebration for everyone.

“We were just kids and excited about the idea of a wedding,” Taeyong shakes his head, chewing on his bottom lip. “The officiant was drunk after the banquet, I guess. And well, for us it was just pretending. I didn’t know it was real. Until _now_.”

It sounds so stupid. But he doesn’t owe an explanation to anyone in this room besides maybe his sister. He doesn’t want to try to explain how he and Kim Doyoung had been best friends until they were about twelve. He doesn’t want to think about any of that. But now the wound is reopened.

“And anyone tied to the royal family cannot run in electoral politics,” his sister says slowly, the understanding of why they’re all gathered here finally dawning. “Doyoung is _technically_ a member of the royal family.”

It’s so fucked up. Taeyong fucked up so badly. Despite how hard he tries; he still cannot do anything right.

“Where is Kim?” The king demands. “He should be here. We can end this misstep quickly and move past it. Forget this childish mistake. It will be easy enough to annul.”

That is the moment the door opens and Kim fucking Doyoung walks in. He’s wearing designer jeans, a suit jacket perfectly fitted to his broad shoulders and a shit-eating grin. He’s devastatingly handsome with sharp eyes that miss nothing and a dangerously charming smile. Kim Doyoung is a _vision_.

That is, he’s annoying attractive. Objectively. Taeyong thinks everyone would agree.

And Taeyong _hates_ him.

He pushes his chair back and stands, glaring as Doyoung confidently strides towards the table. Taeyong’s hands are shaking, and he clenches them into fists at his sides.

Every eye in the room is on the two of them as they stare each other down. Most of them know the two have a history of some sort. Most people know they were childhood friends. Only Taeyong’s sister knows the truth.

“I apologize for my tardiness.” Doyoung bows to those at the table, low for the king with the appropriate greeting before turning to business. He knows how to talk to the king, knows how to handle royal formalities from childhood. No other presidential candidate would handle such a meeting with the king so well. He is the exception.

Then, “Miss Jeon, have we brought everyone else up to date on the matter?” Doyoung asks the woman with glasses. He doesn’t bother sitting. Taeyong thinks it is because Doyoung always liked being above other people, a superiority complex.

“Are you here to sign the damn papers?” Taeyong asks icily. He doesn’t sit. The two of them stand on opposite sides of the table. A convenient barrier, Taeyong thinks. It might prevent him from strangling Doyoung. Maybe.

Learning across the table, Doyoung’s lips curl in a teasing smile as he tilts his head. “Ah, hyung, a cold greeting for your husband of nearly two decades.”

He doesn’t even think. He throws away every rule he’s ever been taught about diplomacy and manners. In one quick move, Taeyong reaches out and grabs the front of Doyoung’s shirt, pulling him half across the table.

“Do you think this is a joke, Kim?” He asks, baring his teeth.

Doyoung’s eyes widen in surprise, but after a moment his stupid smirk is back and he’s laughing lightheartedly. This is all a joke to him. _Taeyong_ is a joke to him.

“Taeyong!” His sister hisses, pushing them apart.

Everyone is still staring, wide-eyed and horrified. Taeyong doesn’t act like this. He is the _perfect_ prince. He’s always doing what he’s told. Obedient to the family and nation. He’s a symbol of pride for the country. He doesn’t engage in physical altercations. Unfortunately, Kim Doyoung is the exception to every rule Taeyong has.

He knows he should calm down, try to hide his emotions – save face. But Taeyong is the prince, and Doyoung, for now, is enough beneath him in the social hierarchy he dares push the limits of social propriety. At least, if he ignores the technicality of their marriage.

He tells himself that everything that happens in this room is strictly confidential. That he can react like this here, this once.

Taeyong glares even harder.

It has only ever been Kim Doyoung who could bring this out in him. Only Doyoung has this power to make his blood boil, to make him want to fight back, to prove himself. Even as kids they were opposites, but as kids, things were simpler. They balanced each other out. They were best friends. But they’re no longer kids.

“I _do_ want to sign an annulment _hyung_ , don’t worry,” Doyoung says, fixing his shirt. He flashes the room his stupid charming smile, amicable as always.

Doyoung hasn’t called him _hyung_ in years. The audacity, the presumption of this closeness, appalls Taeyong. He knows it was done to annoy him. Not many have the privilege of addressing their prince this way, and they both know Doyoung lost his years ago. And yet.

Taeyong realizes everyone is still staring. Suddenly, he’s self-conscious. He’s making a fool of himself. He slowly drops his rigid posture, fixes his face into a more neutral expression. He’s trying to find the words to apologize – not to Doyoung, _never_ to Doyoung, but to everyone else for his behaviour.

Before he has the chance, one of the king’s secretaries, Miss Yang, leans down and whispers in the king’s ear. She’s showing him something on her tablet.

Taeyong hears the words _ambassador_ and _Hong Kong_ and maybe a swear or two.

Everyone watches the king’s brows slowly knit together.

“Excellent, we are in agreement, Mr. Kim.” The king finally says, attention returning to the meeting at hand. “I trust you and my son will be able to deal with this matter quickly and quietly.” He pauses, nodding once to Doyoung. He doesn’t spare a glance at Taeyong. The implied disappointment, anger, and resignation come ringing through, loud and clear. “Now, please excuse the princess and I. Our presence is required elsewhere.”

Taeyong watches as his sister stands and bows. “Thank you all for meeting here today. For an issue of such sensitive nature, I am assured that relations can proceed forward unabridged. Mr. Kim, we wish you the best of luck in your future endeavours.”

“Thank you, Your Highness,” Doyoung bows low. He has on his Politician voice. Taeyong’s picked up on it over the years, watching interviews and catching bits of it at events. It’s maybe the politest weapon in existence.

“Let us end here. My son and Mr. Kim may work out the details and sign together privately.”

With that, the room empties until Taeyong is left standing on one side of the table, and Doyoung on the other. And Jaehyun by the door.

"Jaehyun, can you give us a minute?"

Jaehyun shrugs but steps out. He's surely disappointed to be missing out on this action.

Once they're alone, Taeyong narrows his eyes.

Doyoung winks.

“Don’t call me hyung.”

Doyoung laughs. His Politician voice is gone, leaving something much more casual and teasing, as he says, “you’re no fun.”

Such a claim irks Taeyong, and he knows it was meant to. He ignores it. He _tries_ to ignore it. “How did you find out that the marriage was real?” he asks instead. “How did no one here at the palace realize?”

“It’s like they said. My legal team found it, digging through all the documents. As you know, it’s much better to have your own people looking for your dirt before you give the opposition a chance.”

“And they found our marriage certificate?” Taeyong asks, incredulous. “I don’t even remember getting one. Why did you keep it?”

Doyoung stiffens slightly. “I don’t know. I was a kid; I kept a lot of shit. I think I still have drawings that you did of me as a merman. What do you expect?”

That takes Taeyong off guard. He wouldn’t have expected such sentimentality

“Fine.” He says, taking a deep breath. “Let’s get this over and one with. I never want to think about this unfortunate…bump in the road, ever again.”

“About signing the annulment. I do want it done.” Doyoung smirks. “But not yet.”

“ _What_?”

Doyoung shrugs, but there’s a knowing glint in his eyes. It’s a look that brings back memories, instantly recognizable. “There are twenty days left before the official election. There’s plenty of time for our _perfect_ Prince Taeyong to come and support me as a friend at public events. A few photo ops. Nothing serious. I’ll sign the annulment papers before the election happens, no worries. But until then…”

It takes a moment for the implied threat to sink in.

Taeyong’s eyes widen in disbelief. “Are you _blackmailing_ me?”

“That’s a little harsh. I just want you to be a good friend and help improve my image for the remainder of my campaign, hyung. I need the country to fall in love with me and having the prince by my side will help break down any remaining barriers.”

“Or else you’ll what? Tell everyone that we’re married?” Taeyong’s voice cracks on the last word, betraying his distress.

Doyoung shrugs again. “Pretty much.”

Taeyong blinks.

Somehow, he is still shocked at this audacious plan of Doyoung’s, despite knowing better than anyone how heartless he could be. How _ambitious_ he is. How Doyoung wants everything and always has.

Over the years he has watched as Doyoung sought everything he had the impulse to want, and always, _always_ succeeded. It was like there was nothing he couldn’t be stopped by. And for Taeyong, a prince locked forever into his strict role of custom and limited by constitutional law in everything he did – it was sickening.

Doyoung couldn’t have just been a diplomat’s son – he had to be a boy scout _and_ the straight A’s class president. He had to play not one, not two, but _three_ instruments. He had to do _both_ track and kumdo. He couldn’t just be in a choir, he had to be in a _rock band_ too. He couldn’t just be a rock star, on the cover of every magazine in Asia – Doyoung _also_ had to complete a double BA in political science and history and _then_ get his _master’s_ in international relations. All by twenty-five. And now _this_.

“And what if I don’t agree?” Taeyong asks, “it would ruin your career too, wouldn’t it? It would be a big enough scandal to make you lose the election.”

The laws for the elections are set by the South Korean Constitution and the Public Official Election Act. The federal election campaign period for the presidency is only twenty-three days. They only are only three days in. 

Doyoung walks around the table until he’s smiling down at Taeyong, barely a step away.

Somehow over the years, he’s grown bigger than Taeyong, despite being a year younger. Doyoung is taller, but not by much. But his shoulders are broader, and he carries himself like a much larger man. But maybe Taeyong is just intimidated, watching in anxious panic as Doyoung closes the distance between them.

“Probably,” Doyoung admits, a devilish glint in his eyes. “But I can take a damaged reputation. Who am I, really, in the grand scheme of things?” His lips curl into a cruel smile. “But _you_? Hyung, you’re the golden prince of the republic. You’re everyone’s favourite and no one’s ever going to forget about you. And well, you wouldn’t want to _disappoint_ everyone would you? You wouldn’t want to bring criticism to your family, to the government, to our country…”

Taeyong stares in horror as he lets this sink in.

Doyoung has played him and played him well. He knows better than anyone that Taeyong puts duty and family before all. He knows that Taeyong will sacrifice himself for the sake of others. He won’t let scandal engulf them just for the sake of bringing down Doyoung, no matter how much he wants a piece of that sweet cake.

“You’re a fucking bastard.”

“Don’t worry, hyung. It won’t be that bad,” Doyoung says in a saccharine voice. He reaches out and adjusts Taeyong’s suit jacket, a boldly intimate gesture that makes Taeyong freeze under the gentle touch. “Unless I want it to be that is.”

Their eyes lock.

Taeyong feels sick, rage rolling in his stomach. He hates this. He hates not having a choice. He hates Doyoung for knowing him too well, for using it against him.

“But oh wait,” Doyoung pauses, face lighting up in fake shock. “You’re a fucking dick! I _do_ want it to be bad!”

Taeyong doesn’t even think. He just shoves Doyoung as hard as he can, then ducks as a fist comes swinging at him.


	2. In Which Dotae Fight in a Bougie Bathroom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh…a wanton tryst in the men’s room? Your Highness…I didn’t think you had it in you!” Doyoung whispers in exaggerated excitement as he follows a step behind. “This will give me lots of juicy material for my diary tonight!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here is some fashion [inspo](https://akns-images.eonline.com/eol_images/Entire_Site/2018516/rs_634x1024-180616173810-634.lakeith-stanfield-2018-mtv-movie-awards-red-carpet.ct.061618.jpg) for dy
> 
> [and this looks like a doyu vid hehe](https://twitter.com/dojaetenn/status/1234398811767787520?s=20)

Later, in the privacy of his room, Taeyong breaks down.

He runs through the facts over and over, trying to find a loophole or a place to escape. He goes over the law, feeling betrayed by his own royal blood allowing this to happen through sick historical privilege. Same-sex marriage isn’t even legal by law (despite the former mayor’s valiant attempts in 2014 to create a Seoul City Charter of Human Rights that would include legalizing it, only for it to be shot down). And yet.

Eventually, he gives up. He realizes he’s done enough damage, disappointed his father enough as it is. He must accept this blackmail as punishment for his failings.

Not that his father has openly spoken to him about it – the king is clearly taking this situation as best ignored and swept under the rug. Ignoring that his son is not just married but married to a _man_.

And Taeyong could take this chance to come clean to his father, his entire family about his feelings…but he knows he wouldn’t. It would be seen as a _betrayal_. And Taeyong, he belongs to his father and this country more than himself, and he’s accepted this – knowing they could never accept his decidedly queer predilections.

Drying his tears, he pushes Doyoung out of his mind. He doesn’t deserve tears.

He needs a distraction.

He spends hours reorganizing his bookshelves. He puts on some music and does everything to keep his mind from thinking about the present situation. He refuses to think about, working late into the night until exhaustion makes his limbs heavy and his eyes struggle to stay open.

The next day, it begins.

He starts by proceeding through his daily motions as normal, right up until finishing breakfast. That’s when his phone begins to go off.

**UNKNOWN**

Hey husband

Big sexy

It’s me

Ya boy

**HRH LTY**

Who gave you this number?

**UNKNOWN**

Jung Jaehyun

For professional reasons, of course 😉

“Jaehyun!” Taeyong gasps in horror.

“What?” Jaehyun asks through a mouth full of eggs on the other side of the table. He looks up from his phone, which he was scrolling through with one hand. Probably looking at the daily tabloids, his guilty pleasure.

“How could you give my _personal_ number to Kim Fucking Doyoung?”

Jaehyun swallows. His round eyes stare blankly. “He asked me…?”

Taeyong narrows his eyes and takes a sip of coffee. Even his closest friends are betraying him.

“He seemed in a good mood after your meeting yesterday. I assumed all had gone well and he had just forgotten to ask you himself.” Jaehyun says carefully. “Was that…a misinterpretation of the situation?”

Taeyong sighs. Of course, Doyoung seemed to be a good mood after their meeting yesterday. He had just fucking manipulated the prince of his country and former best friend into helping him rig the election. Or…something more legal but just as devious.

“Are you mad?”

“No,” Taeyong says, looking back at his phone. “I just want to tell you that from now on I might be visiting Doyoung more. Hanging out.” He looks at his reflection in his coffee. It’s too early for this bullshit. “As friends. Normal stuff.”

Jung Jaehyun, his personal handler/bodyguard/closest friend, lifts a brow. “Really?”

“Yes, really.”

“Oh, well…good for you, Your Highness.”

“Jaehyun.”

"Good for you, hyung.”

Resigned to his fate, Taeyong saves Doyoung’s contact and thinks for a moment how to best approach this walk to the gallows.

**HRH LTY**

I hope you realize all the NDA’s you signed as a kid are still in effect.

There will be rules around this.

**ENEMY NO1**

ur so sexy when ur threatening me

the annual orphan charity ball is this weekend

ur my d8 ok

wear smth sexy...or else

Taeyong quickly checks his calendar and begins making the arrangements. “Jae, we’re going to the Orphaned Children of Korea Charity Ball this weekend.”

"We are?” Jaehyun frowns at his phone. “That isn’t in my – oh, wait now it is. Is this about Doyoung?”

“No,” Taeyong says quickly, standing up. He’s supposed to be at a nursing home for war veterans in two hours. “Why wouldn’t I want to go to the ball? It’s a charity event. That’s like my whole thing.”

Following suit, Jaehyun stands and the pressed black dress shirt he wears does little to hide his strong build which strains under the movement. “I guess. I thought you never went during election years though? It’s always so political.”

Taeyong wants to hate Jaehyun for being both such a good friend and so damn good at his job. He pastes on a smile. “Yes, well, perhaps it’s time for a change.”

+

Later after all his royal duties are done and he’s eaten supper, Taeyong is on the floor of the nursery, following the mosaic floor tiles as if they’re roads for the toy car in his hand. He’s changed out of his formal attire into comfy loungewear and slippers.

“I win, I win!” his nephew says, pushing his toy car past Taeyong’s.

“You’re too fast for me,” Taeyong replies with a sigh. He flops onto his stomach, accepting his defeat in the race. And everything else.

“Something is wrong,” his sister says from her position curled up on the loveseat. It isn’t a question.

He hasn’t told his sister about the deal he made with Doyoung. He doesn’t even know how he would approach it. He can’t just come out and say, _hey, by the way, I didn’t annul my marriage from childhood! Now I’m pretending to be friends with Doyoung so he won’t expose it and he gets more voters in the presidential election_! It really isn’t presidential behaviour.

“It’s nothing. Just Doyoung. But it’s fine.” Taeyong says, pushing the hand-painted toy wooden car back and forth. 

His sister deals with enough of her own struggles. He doesn’t want to burden her with his. It is not easy being a woman in a sadly still male-dominated field of politics. She has to fight twice as hard, be twice as smart, be twice as quick as everyone else. And she does. _And_ she is still a present and fantastic mother. Taeyong admires her maybe more than anyone.

His nephew drives his own toy car right over his butt, unbothered by his uncle’s sudden melancholy, all the while providing sound effects. _Vroooom_.

“That’s not nothing, Yongie.” She shakes her head. “It’s a pretty big _something_. Especially considering your history. You were affected badly enough by just the idea of Doyoung running in the election. Every time his name popped up in conversation or on the news you shut down a bit. And because I’m your noona, I know it was a way to protect yourself.”

Taeyong doesn’t deny this. They both know it would be futile.

“It is what it is.”

His nephew, the crown prince and second in line to inherit the metaphorical Crown begins to drive his toy car down Taeyong’s leg. He doubts that the public guesses this is what the royal family does on Monday nights.

“Did you two at least manage to re-establish a sense of rapport? A new…normal? As adults?” His sister asks, taking a sip of her forgotten tea. She’s always forgetting her tea. Taeyong swears that his sister drinks more tepid tea than anyone else who’s set to inherit a country. “I mean, this childhood into teens antagonism is getting old. And well, he _does_ want to be the president of this damn republic. That would require working closely with father, with me, and by default, you to some extent.”

“Something like that.” Taeyong shrugs, mouth twitching into a painful smile. It’s the kind of smile that’s all muscle and no true emotion – hollow reassurance. But it’s the best he can offer.

“What does that mean?”

"I’m going to the charity ball. He invited me.” Not that as _prince_ Taeyong would ever need an invitation. “I’m being friendly. Trying to be at least.”

His sister’s eyes widen. She’s removed her makeup for the night and looks so much less like a refined princess and so much more like a typical meddling noona. “ _Friendly_?”

“We’re trying.” Taeyong lies, internally cringing. He never lies to his sister. _Never_. She even knows about the time Jaehyun walked in on him wearing nothing but very short silk kimono and dancing to Hotline Bling. It was traumatic for everyone involved.

“Well,” His sister says, looking at him over the rim of her teacup. “I look forward to seeing how this unfolds. I’m proud of you.”

And that’s all he needs. Those words. The validation. The approval. He can do this.

“ _Noona_.”

+

The annual orphans charity ball is a pretty big deal, even to Taeyong’s standards.

There are numerous high-profile officials, businesspeople, and actors and idols alike in attendance. Anyone who can pay to attend does. It’s as much of a symbol of class as it is for a good cause, the irony of which is not lost to Taeyong. He thinks it’s a shame that people cannot just donate money to charity but instead insists upon spending millions of won on outfits for the event, the venue, the food and décor. But as someone who lives on tax dollars allotted to his family due to his birthright alone, he doesn’t voice these criticisms.

The hotel the ball is held at would put some of the palace’s to shame. And the décor and catering of the event is nothing small either. It’s all opulence painted in gold with roses for a splash of colour.

“Oh, did you know Prince Yuta is dating some foreign girl?” Jaehyun asks conversationally. He’s dressed in a tux with his hair slicked back looking very James Bond, if James Bond was Korean and part of the royal family’s secret service agency.

It makes Taeyong glance around the room for the Japanese prince, only to come up empty. “He’s here?”

“No, he’s at some UN thing in Paris. Look.” Jaehyun holds up his phone with an image of a press release of the handsome Japanese prince and some small girl whose arms are covered in tattoos.

He quickly scans the article. Relations with Japan could be tense, but they are important. Historically speaking, there is animosity between them, and certainly still deep-seated feelings for people over a certain age. However, politically and economically relations with Japan are central concerns to the government. Most things today are fine, close partners on numerous affairs.

But Taeyong has never been _friends_ with the Japanese prince. They are polite enough to each other, having both grown up in the public eye of their countries, but otherwise largely unmentioned internationally. They go to many of the same events. The media loves handsome princes.

Unfortunately, and maybe a signifier of his character, Prince Yuta is friends with Doyoung. The two of them over the years have made it into the media a fair bit, at least from Jaehyun’s daily accounts of world news and gossip. (Taeyong is above gossip and tabloids.) There was one video that got leaked a few years back of the two of them in some nightclub in Tokyo, Yuta’s arms around Doyoung’s neck, their faces too close. The video was short, cut of anything actually worth gossiping about – but still. Scandalous. 

Both Doyoung and Prince Yuta have cleaned up their characters since their rebellious teenage years. At least, in the public’s eye. A foreign girlfriend is still somewhat scandalous.

“Yes, but only because you told me a few weeks ago about her,” Taeyong finally replies, sipping on his flute of champagne. He plans on nursing it all night. Alcohol and him do _not_ pair well. He never drinks more than one at public events. “She’s British?”

"Canadian.”

“Hmm. She’s cute.”

“Oh, look who has arrived,” Jaehyun says, nodding towards the entrance that’s being swamped by people and their flashing cameras. “Your dear friend.”

Taeyong narrows his eyes and holds by a sarcastic comment. He can do this. He _has_ to do this.

Kim Doyoung strides in wearing a sleek floral dichromatic scarlet suit, paired with a black turtleneck. His pointed black heeled boots shine under the chandelier light. On his chest, silver chains hang. On anyone else, this look would be absurd.

And Taeyong hates how on despite everything else, Doyoung looks stunning. It’s the confidence that pulls it together. The ease and smile Doyoung gives as he waves to the cameras as he passes the press.

Unfortunately, after grabbing a drink from a passing waiter, Doyoung beelines for them.

Taeyong takes a deep breath.

“Good evening, babo,” Doyoung greets him with a genuine, wide square smile that reminds Taeyong of their childhood. He bows. Then, Doyoung steps closer until his breath is hot against Taeyong’s ear and says softly, “you look fine as hell, my dear _husband_.”

Taeyong pushes him away. Then he realizes how rude that probably looked. He gives a tight smile. _Friendly_. “It’s nice to see you, too.”

Doyoung’s black hair is slicked back and his eyes are haloed in gold and lined in black. And he’s still smiling his stupid square smile.

Taeyong’s stomach twists into a knot.

He wants to go to the other side of the room. He wants to leave. He wants to crawl into bed and never have to think about Kim fucking Doyoung ever again or the possibility of him becoming president. Or the fact that he is legally married to him.

“You really do look nice, hyung,” Doyoung says, eyes travelling his body. “Custom Lie Sangbong?”

Taeyong nods. It shouldn’t surprise him that Doyoung can guess the designer of his suit. He knows how important it is for the royal family to be seen supporting Korean made products, especially at events like this.

His outfit tonight is pushing it, even for him. Royals aren’t allowed to make _statements_ or waves. Tonight's outfit technically comes from a woman’s collection, but he’s never been one to follow arbitrary labels when it comes to fashion. It’s one of the few things he’s actually pursued with some interest.

Tonight’s piece, as following Doyoung’s instructions, is sexier than he’d normally go for. It’s a black one-piece suit that cuts low on his chest, the front panels crossing at the stomach, leaving his sides and back bare.

“You know, you could wear rags and you’d still look like a prince.”

Taeyong resists the urge to roll his eyes.

People are staring at them.

People are always staring at Taeyong, but he’s never not been aware of it. It’s part of being a prince in a highly modernized age. But the prince of the ROK and the celebrity turned presidential candidate are making niceties. This is newsworthy.

“Lovely to see you, as well, Jaehyun,” Doyoung says, to fill the silence. His gaze quickly darts across the room, assessing. “Have any hot gossip to share?”

Jaehyun shrugs but is clearly pleased to have been asked. “Just that of you and our prince.”

Taeyong doesn’t know when the two of them became friends. Doyoung is only a year older than Jaehyun, friendship is quite plausible. But still. There are hierarchies and professionalism to be upheld.

"Shouldn’t you be mingling and gaining the popular vote?”

Doyoung laughs. “I suppose so. Care to join me, my prince?”

He would get on a rocket to space, but there’s probably a limited amount of sweets you can bring and Taeyong is a man of simple sweet cravings. Alas.

“Fine, let’s go make the rounds and get some photos done,” Taeyong agrees, defeated. “I’ve already had Jaehyun feed some generic insider quotes to the press about our close friendship.”

Taking a sip of his champagne, Doyoung nods impressed.

As they make their way through the room conversations drop out as they pass by. Mouths hang open frozen mid-drink, and a few not-so-subtle phones raising for pictures of the prince and ROK’s hottest politician.

Before the hour is up a royal photographer has swooped in and captured several shots of the Taeyong and Doyoung together. Doyoung even wraps an arm around him, and Taeyong is forced to smile through it all, knowing the photos will likely be strategically leaked to the press by Doyoung’s team.

They will surely be the top news story tomorrow morning. Knowing this makes Taeyong feel weird. That people care about what he does and who he’s with this much. He’s sure if people were to get an honest view of him, they’d think he was boring. They’d probably be right.

Then for hours they do what they came here to do: smile, talk and take photos.

“Oh, we’re childhood friends,” Taeyong is forced to say with an amicable smile.

"Such a young and handsome president would be unheard of, but not impossible,” He concedes.

“As the prince, I can’t actually vote in elections,” he explains, “but I’m sure people will make the right choice. The smart choice.”

“Do I think his platform is too progressive for the ROK? I wouldn’t put anything off the table. Crazier things have happened.”

“No, I don’t know if he has a girlfriend,” Taeyong laughs awkwardly, “seems politically irrelevant. Hm? What is that? Well, we are close. Friends. Thank you…maybe you should have some water.”

As the clock nears midnight Taeyong continues to nurse his champagne and watch Doyoung in quiet awe.

Tonight, Doyoung has continuously exceeded every expectation Taeyong had about his political prowess. Kim Doyoung is a charming force to be reckoned with and surely would win the election without a question if he could simply sit down with every ajumma over tea. He’s not only meaningful with his words, feeding compliments and asking questions – he seemingly remembers all these little details from people he’s met only once before. He asks about children, pets, new jobs. _And people love it._

They also love that their prince is standing pretty by his side. An unspoken approval. Doyoung’s evil plan is working shockingly well.

“You have to admit it,” Doyoung says, expertly steering them towards the bar after forty minutes of talking to a Thai diplomat. “You can’t deny it."

"Admit what?”

“That we make an absolutely picturesque couple.”

Taeyong coughs on his champagne in a distinctly unprincely manner. Some of it lands on the floor, which is a shame because his flute is almost empty.

“What?” He manages to ask, face red from more than the alcohol. He quickly grabs a napkin and wipes the floor.

Doyoung grins at him. “We are a visual power couple. Iconic. Right, Jaehyun?”

“The media sure thinks so,” Jaehyun says, holding up his phone. “You guys are trending on twitter. User @KDYsHeavenlyVocalsAndFlatAss says: _the prince and DOYOUNG? PERHAPS TOO POWERFUL?? Is the matrix glitching??”_

“Damn, I guess I can’t open an account now if that username is taken,” Doyoung says, with an exaggerated disappointed shake of his head. “A _shame_.”

“We are _not_ a couple.”

“The law says otherwise,” Doyoung says, with an evil smirk. Quickly, he dodges Taeyong’s instinctive jab at his chest, stepping back and out of reach. “Oh, you missed, babo.”

“I literally cannot stand being married to you!” Taeyong hisses in a low voice that only Doyoung is close enough to hear. He finishes off the rest of his champagne, handing it off to a passing server.

“You wound me,” Doyoung says mockingly. He reaches a hand to his heart dramatically. “I thought what we have is something _special_.”

Taeyong is tired. He’s tired of being at this ball. He’s tired of making pleasantries. And above all, he’s fucking tired of Kim Doyoung. He hates that he has to do this, to show fake support for Doyoung. He’s terrified of it actually working and being stuck with him as their president for five fucking years.

He looks around the room. Although some people have left, either gone home or to after-parties, there are still plenty of people here. Too many to do anything risky right here. He has an image to uphold.

“Follow me to the bathroom.” He orders, and then takes off in long strides across the room.

“Oh…a wanton tryst in the men’s room? Your Highness…I didn’t think you had it in you!” Doyoung whispers in exaggerated excitement as he follows a step behind. “This will give me lots of juicy material for my diary tonight!”

Taeyong resists the urge to grab Doyoung by the front of his shirt and throw him to the floor. Or shove him. Or order his assassination by the KCIA.

The second Doyoung follows him into the bathroom, Taeyong grabs him by the lapels and slams against the door and holds him there. He’s surely wrinkling the fantastic red suit. A shame.

“Your Highness!” Doyoung gasps in a ridiculous lewd voice like he’s some 18th-century courtesan. But he’s rolling his eyes. Even this is a joke. And he clearly thinks it to be a lame one.

"I’m so _fucking_ tired of you, Kim Doyoung,” he hisses, tightening his grip. He pushes his elbow against Doyoung’s chest and finally, the humour drops from his eyes as the pain registers. “Do you need to be reminded who I fucking am? I am your _prince_.”

“My husband too,” Doyoung says flatly, then kicks out, _much_ too close to Taeyong’s groin and he falls back a step. “And don’t worry. I never forget who or what you are, _Your Highness_. A day does not go by where I am not aware of that title in front of your name.”

They stare at each other in heavy silence, both waiting to see what the other will do next.

In his pocket, Taeyong’s phone vibrates. A text from Jaehyun on the other side of the door likely. Poor Jaehyun. He’s doesn’t know how Doyoung is the exception to all Taeyong’s rules.

“Well, then,” he says, running his hands through his hair and pushing it out of his face. “Let’s get this out of our system.”

Doyoung raises a brow and licks his lips, eyes doing a quick sweep.

“ _Fight_ ,” Taeyong says, lips curling in disgust. “You nasty bastard, I mean _fight_.”

“Boring,” Doyoung replies, but removes his suit jacket, putting it on the counter. Taeyong is sure that if Doyoung had a tie, he’d pull it loose. Instead, he slowly moves his head side to side, cracking it. Readying himself. “I’ll be a shame if I ruin your pretty face, baboya. I’ll aim low.”

Taeyong definitely throws the first punch, but after that, it’s a bit of blur. It’s just Doyoung’s limbs and him and pain and adrenaline and fuck, it feels good to get this out between them.

“You bastard!” Doyoung swears when Taeyong manages to elbow him in the chest and sending him stumbling. But he wraps his foot around Taeyong’s ankle soon they’re both falling hard to the floor.

“Fuck,” Taeyong groans. His shoulder is sore, and a punch was landed on his jaw. He hopes there isn’t a mark. He blinks, vision clearing and realizes he’s atop Doyoung. He smells like clean laundry, good and safe, just like when they were kids. The memories the smell triggers startle him, and Taeyong has to cough, bring himself back to the moment. “Thanks for softening that fall.”

“Get off me.”

They’re lucky such a bougie hotel keeps their bathroom floors so clean.

He dusts himself off and runs a hand through his hair, fixing it. Then offers out a hand, which Doyoung surprisingly takes. “Truce?”

Doyoung gives him a skeptical side-eye. “Forever? Or just for tonight?”

“Now you’re the one who’s making this sound like an amorous affair with those R&B lyrics.”

Surprising him again, Doyoung laughs – a genuine sound as he shakes his head and wraps an arm around Taeyong’s shoulders. “Baboya, let’s get out of here.

They head for the door, and Taeyong grabs the discarded red suit jacket on the way by. They’re both tired and sweaty and slightly red-faced, but things feel better between them. At least, for now.

When Doyoung unlocks and opens the door they find Jaehyun on the other side with his arms crossed and an exasperated look on his face. “You two have fun?”

“Yeah, he’s worn me out. Time to go home.”

Taeyong pushes into him, and together they laugh as they sneak out of the ball and the hotel. Not because he no longer hates Doyoung, because he does, but because it feels so much better to finally throw some punches at the man who’s fucking blackmailing him. It’s a small win.

+

Somehow, Taeyong doesn’t sleep in too much the next morning. He slept well too, had let the drowsy lull of the alcohol take him before his mind caught up with him last night. No staying up lamenting his future and Doyoung’s evilness.

Finally, his stomach sends him out of his room. He could call someone and ask for food to be brought over, spend his morning in bed watching a movie or reading, but he hates bothering the staff more than is necessary.

In soft linen drawstring pants that hang low on his narrow hips, a cropped cashmere sweater and pink slippers, Taeyong heads to the family dining room. It’s much less formal than the one they use for state dinners. And it has a highchair for his nephew always set up beside it.

“You and Kim Doyoung are the only thing the media is talking about this morning,” his sister tells him when he walks in. “ _Scandalous_. Who knew you had it in you, Yongie?”

“Scandalous?” He yawns and automatically looks to Jaehyun, the palace gossip manager.

His security service agent is sipping coffee and feeding the crown prince rice porridge and fresh fruit. It’s a messy business and paired with the fact the princess is dressed for the day in a suit, easily explained. Commonplace, really. Jaehyun is practically family. He steps up and fills in as needed.

“Hmm,” Jaehyun nods, cutting the tops off some strawberries and giving them to the young prince. “My favourite so far is: _The Royal Treatment? Dishevelled Kim Doyoung Caught Leaving Men’s Room with HRH LTY_!”

“I also liked _Mixing Business With Pleasure? THE PRINCE AND THE PAUPER PRESIDENT?_ And _HAS HOMOEROTIC SUBTEXT OF POLITICS FINALLY BECOME MAIN TEXT?_ Both asking very valid questions.”

“The online hashtags are pretty good too.” Jaehyun continues. “User @ThiccLTYBrows says: _girl if they aren’t smooshing booties behind the scenes already, they best get to it #otp,_ and then a gif of a sassy drag queen.”

“Lovely.” Taeyong sighs in defeat, pouring himself some coffee. He watches as the steam rises in the air, still waking up. “For the record, we were fighting in the bathroom. _Not_ making out.”

“ _Boring_ ,” Jaehyun says in a singsong voice, much to the delight of the young prince who laughs loudly. “Though, that may feed into the homoerotic subtexts of politics. I’m not sure.”

“Fight?” His sister repeats. She sets down her phone. Which means business. “About what? I thought you two were trying to be friends.”

The king has already ate and moved on from the meal, his place cleared. And the Queen is still gone on her tour. But there’s still plenty of food. There’s always so much food and so much variety. There are many dishes on the table: eggs, rice, fruit, soup, tofu, rice with red and black beans, radish kimchi, and a few western pastries.

“We are trying. It’s fine.” Taeyong tells her, grabbing a sticky bun from a heated platter. He bites into it and the sweetness hits him immediately. It’s so good he could cry.

Jaehyun raises his phone. “Oh, news alert: _Kim Doyoung likes fan photo of him and the prince sneaking out of the ball last night_.”

And suddenly, Taeyong is thrust back into the reality of how Doyoung doesn’t want to be friends with him. He doesn’t care about Taeyong. He just wants to _use_ Taeyong. He just wants publicity of being seen with the prince. He just wants to win the damn election. He just wants power and Taeyong is just a pawn in it all.

He pulls out his phone.

**HRH LTY**

Wtf do you think you’re doing?

Can you be less obvious? People might start to catch onto your evil plan.

He’s scowling at his phone, shoving the last of his sticky bun into his mouth and grabbing another when he gets a reply. He’s more surprised Doyoung is up already more than anything. He had been hoping to fire off a series of annoying messages.

**ENEMY NO1**

hey boo thang

we look good in the news bitch

ps we’re visiting a hospital next Thursday

**HRH LTY**

Greetings, you cretin. Can you perhaps, ask me?

I don’t take orders from you.

**ENEMY NO1**

I thought u were good at taking orders 😳

….

If you know what I mean….

**HRH LTY**

You exhaust me.

Send me the details and I’ll try to be there.

**ENEMY NO1**

I’ll exhaust u alright 😉 just like u did to me last night….

But I need u in peak condition looking good by my side for the media pics lol

**HRH LTY**

Suck my dick, Doyoung.

**ENEMY NO1**

We are married…

**HRH LTY**

I fucking hate you. See you Thursday.

With a defeated sigh, Taeyong pockets his phone. “Well, what is on the royal agenda today?”

“I have a call with Hong Kong in thirty minutes.” His sister says. “You and your nephew have traditional ceremony lessons. Hanboks and all.”

Jaehyun sighs softly and looks at Taeyong with wide tender eyes. “It’s going to be so _cute_. Can I take your picture?”

“No.”

“Why? Because I might send it to Doyoung?”

“Fuc-” Taeyong pauses, glancing at his nephew. He stands, grabbing another bun. “Away you three-inch fool! My nephew and I have plans.”

From behind her tea, his sister snickers. “And you wanted to fight Mom about learning Shakespeare. Look at the modern application!”


	3. Where Taeyong is #Hangry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re lucky we’re sitting on the ground, or else I would have kicked you hard beneath the table. And maybe between the legs, if my aim was good.”
> 
> “Baboya! Think about your future children!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can you tell how bored i am lol im trying not to just post this entire fic

Thursday comes too quickly.

The media still is feeding off the charity ball pictures and Doyoung has been slipping comments to the press about his close relations with his childhood friend, the prince. It is disgusting how much everyone loves the two of them together. And to think, if they had never had their falling out, they could have grown up and stayed side-by-side. Things could be so different. They wouldn’t be in this position.

They make arrangements for Taeyong and Jaehyun to be picked up. The rest of the security team will follow behind in another vehicle, and the hospital has already been assessed and heavily secured since the day prior.

At half-past nine, a black Hyundai Equus pulls up. It has both the mandatory tinting and bulletproof windows, up to par with the royal family’s state cars. It’s impressive.

In their perfectly pressed suits, coiffed hair, with phones in one hand and coffee in the other, they climb in.

“Morning, Your Highness. Good morning to you as well, Jaehyun,” Doyoung greets in a distracted voice, tapping too forcefully on his phone in little staccato stabs. A cup of steaming tea with the tag sticking out is in the holder beside him. The fact that Doyoung doesn't care much for coffee instantly springs to mind, something Taeyong didn't even realize he knew in the back of his mind all these years.

“Hi.” Taeyong shifts in his seat awkwardly. He takes a sip of his sweet coffee. “Nice car.”

Doyoung snorts, not bothering to look up. “Thanks, I guess. You would know, always riding in fancy cars or planes. Have you even ever taken a train?”

“Uh, well, no.”

“You should. Just for the experience. The longest train journey across our great country only takes half a day.”

“I did not know that.”

“Typical.”

They spend the rest of the ride to the hospital in silence, besides Jaehyun and Doyoung exchanging comments about a café they pass by. Taeyong, of course, has never been there.

It feels weird, hanging out with Doyoung. It also makes him feel weird that Jaehyun and Doyoung have things to talk about that he can’t add to. Taeyong doesn’t like it, but says nothing, continuing to look out the window at the city and think about the day ahead.

Hospitals have never been Taeyong’s favourite places, considering his whole germ thing. He’s managed to get a routine going over the years. Between each ward, he washes his hands properly and thoroughly, and Jaehyun follows on standby with hand sanitizer the rest of the time. It isn’t perfect, but it works.

There’s press at the hospital, of course.

Cameras flash and they wave and smile. And this, this is what Taeyong’s good at. He’s been doing this his entire life. They’ve run polls and analyzed algorithms on how the public likes and perceives their prince. Years have gone into crafting this perfect image, this image everyone full-heartedly adores and supports.

But Doyoung’s just as good at it.

“You look so handsome, Mr. Kim!” A reporter calls out. “What do you think about the healthcare system?”

“We live in a fantastic country with passionate, hard-working people. I have nothing but respect for the people who dedicate their lives for caring for others.” He tells them with a wave.

“Your Highness! Why have you just now decided to come to support Mr. Kim?”

Taeyong forces himself to smile as Doyoung wraps an arm around him. “Visiting our country's hospitals and doing my part to spread messages of hope and support are just part of my royal duties. If I can do it in tandem with my childhood friend, then it’s even better.”

A dozen more questions are shot at them, microphones stretching, flashes going off. He’s almost glad to have Doyoung’s arm around him, an extra layer of protection. Not that anything would ever happen. There are far too many measures in place, plainclothes security agents mingling amongst the crowd, down the street, with the staff.

Luckily, Jaehyun steers them inside before they answer any more questions.

Inside the hospital, they bow and take photos with the staff and then move to the children’s ward first. Nurses fluster, blushing and anxious at such spectacle. It’s not even just Taeyong’s and Doyoung’s effect – a nurse can hardly give Jaehyun directions to the nearest restroom when he asks.

They spend a few hours talking to the kids. Most of them are really sick, and Taeyong’s heart aches for them. He does his best to give his words of wisdom and support. Most of them just are in a state of awe to meet the prince, some even asking him if he was once a frog or if he has magical powers. Taeyong promises he does. Doyoung counters this by playing with them all, making them laugh, even if it results in coughing. The smiles are worth it.

Then they head to a few other wards, following the same routine. They visit many elderly patients, focusing on the ones the nurses say don’t get enough visits from their families. Families that work too much, focus on school, on business, forgetting about the elderly who brought them into this world and raised them. It’s a sad reality for far too many in the hospital.

An old man falls asleep talking to him. He’s thanking Taeyong for his family providing strength to their country, for being such good pillars of the people – and then he’s snoring.

It makes Taeyong chuckle.

When he looks behind him, he’s alone. Jaehyun is standing by the door, looking poised and professional. Hand sanitizer at the ready. But Doyoung is gone. Taeyong didn’t notice him leaving.

He stands up, straightens his shirt. He starts towards the door, and that’s when he hears it.

Singing.

 _Doyoung_ , singing.

And Taeyong, despite everything – would recognize the pure sweet tenor anywhere. An angelic voice singing is soft melodies, an unfair talent that’s just improved since their childhood.

Pushing past Jaehyun, he follows the sound. The words come clearer as the heads down the hospital corridor. He ignores everything else.

It’s an old lullaby, the kind his halmoni would sing. Or, rather, if he remembers correctly, the kind _Doyoung’s_ halmoni would sing.

He pushes back the memories. He just trots down the corridor, looking in each room, trying to find the source.

Finally, he finds the room. He lingers by the door, peering in and sees Doyoung sitting beside a bed. He’s holding an old woman’s hand with both of his own, so much bigger they completely encompass hers. And he’s singing. He’s singing so sweetly, so softly, and so earnestly, even Taeyong can tell this is real. This isn’t some show he’s putting on. And even if it was, it would make no sense for Doyoung to do this alone with an old woman would probably don’t give a damn who their next president is.

There are tears in the old woman’s small rheumy eyes. And he’s looking at Doyoung like he’s given her the best gift.

And Taeyong isn’t sure he hasn’t.

Because despite all of Doyoung’s bad qualities, his condescending quick intellect and sharp words, his dangerous ambition…he still has this. A natural talent for singing, a caring heart – things Taeyong has purposely ignored for years because the dissonance between the two is sometimes too much. He isn’t doing this for his own gain.

Finally, the song ends.

 _Far too soon_ , Taeyong thinks, then steps into the room, clapping.

“Are you wooing another beautiful woman, Doyongie?”

He doesn’t know why he tags on the childhood nickname. He hasn’t used it in years, it’s juvenile and reminiscent of earlier days when things were simpler and they had big smiles and lollipops slipped to them by bodyguards.

“Oh, Your Highness, don’t embarrass me in front of Mrs. Do,” Doyoung responds, smiling at the old woman. To her, he says, “this is my friend I was telling you about earlier.”

The old woman, Mrs. Do, nods and gives a toothless grin at Taeyong. It is obvious she has seen so much, lived through so much. Being in one of the most technologically advanced hospitals in the world with the prince and a presidential candidate would seem absurd her younger self, who grew up in hard days of colonial control, war, and the implementation of a new state.

“I remember the day you were born,” she tells him. “Our country celebrated. It was the middle of summer. I picked the first melon of the year and was cutting it up when they announced it on the television.”

This stuns Taeyong. That he has this much influence, by simply being born. That he’s in people’s memories. Of all the things this woman has seen, she remembers his birth amongst it all.

He must take took long to respond, because Doyoung chuckles and tells her, “our prince loves melon, you know.”

"Ah, smart boy. Needs to eat more. Both of you. Such handsome boys.”

This makes Taeyong’s ears heat, of all the compliments he gets. This somehow seems more honest, more meaningful. This old woman isn’t complimenting his looks for her own gain, she’s just doing it because that’s what old women do. It’s like Taeyong’s any other young man to her.

“Excuse me, Your Highness,” A nurse walks into the room with a bow. “It’s time for Mrs. Do to rest. She has surgery tomorrow.”

"Surgery?”

“Minor, nothing to worry yourself about, Your Highness.” Mrs. Do tells him, dismissively. “Thank you for coming. Both of you.”

Together, Doyoung and Taeyong bow.

"Thank you for having us,” Doyoung says, then blows a kiss as they leave.

The rest of their visit passes in a blur. They go through the motions, meet the officials, bow and thank the staff. Taeyong’s mind is elsewhere – back in that hospital room with Doyoung singing. The melody plays in his head.

Soon enough, they are climbing back into the car with Jaehyun following them. The driver puts on the radio, and somehow the stars align and one of Doyoung’s band’s song comes on. It's a good song.

Rolling his shoulders, Taeyong can’t get comfortable. A hot shower when he gets home will be much welcome. Then maybe a yogurt smoothie and a movie with his sister and nephew. Maybe their dad would join them if he’s not busy. Anything to distract him from Doyoung. Because that’s all his mind will think about lately: Doyoung, Doyoung, Doyoung. It’s becoming too much. He’s at his breaking point.

“What’s up with you?” Doyoung asks, giving him a weird look. Not quite concerned. More confused. Only slightly condescending.

Taeyong frowns. “Nothing.” Then, just to say something, “I just forgot you could sing like that.”

“Jealous?” Doyoung asks. He shrugs in exaggerated modesty. “I’m not just a pretty face, hyung. I do have a best-selling album. And that ballad I wrote when I was eighteen is a wedding classic.”

The damn love ballad has literally played at every wedding Taeyong has gone to in recent years and is a popular pick for kdramas. It’s been like he could never escape Doyoung, even without Jaehyun’s constant updates from the tabloids. It doesn’t help the song is bloody fantastic from the composition, arrangement, production and of fucking course, the vocals. People _love_ that song. They love Doyoung’s band too, at least those of a certain age. People love him for just being himself. And maybe that’s what irks Taeyong the most.

The streets of Seoul are getting dark, but traffic is slow. They won’t be home anytime soon. He doesn’t want to be stuck in the car with Doyoung a minute longer. “Fuck off.”

“Rude,” Doyoung scoffs. He goes back to tapping at his phone, probably sharing posts about their visit to the hospital and liking the press photos. Creating more fuel for the rumour mill of their friendship, building good press around his name. Jaehyun will surely give Taeyong an update before they separate for the night.

It kind of hurts. The fact that Doyoung can do all of this so well, and not feel bad about any of it. Bullying Taeyong into doing this. Acting like this is normal between them. And he doesn’t even seem to care about how Taeyong feels. Which has always been the fundamental problem of their relationship.

Unlocking his phone, he pulls up his conversation with his sister. He wants to tell her everything. He wants her advice. He wants her to come in and save him from this terrible, shitty, shitty, situation. He can’t even tell Jaehyun. But he can’t tell them. It isn’t worth it. He’s making oceans out of puddles, being too sensitive and intense, as always.

He takes a breath, closing his eyes. Control. He’s under control. It’s fine.

“Jaehyun, can I have some hand sanitizer please?”

“Sure.”

Even with his eyes closed, he can tell Doyoung is frowning. Thinking. The silence is telling.

“Hey…are you okay?” Doyoung asked quietly. His tone is completely changed from earlier. The bite is all gone.

“Yes,” Taeyong says quickly, opening his eyes. The lie comes to his lips of its own accord. But it rings false, even to his own ears. “I’m fine.”

“Was the hospital…too much? I forgot about your…clean thing. Sorry.”

The apology is unprecedented and comes as a surprise. Kim Doyoung. Apologizing to him. Smelling salts may be needed. He may faint in shock.

Even more surprisingly, Doyoung continues with a hand waved at the window. “Do you want to get something to eat?”

“What?”

“I bet it would improve your mood.” He says, “that’s all.”

“Fuck off, Kim Doyoung. I am not _hangry_.”

“I mean, I’m sure it wouldn’t hurt,” Jaehyun comments, not looking up from his phone. “You didn’t eat any of the food at the hospital with the director besides ice cream. It was good, you missed out.”

Taeyong narrows his eyes, betrayed. “Whose side are you on here, Jae?”

“I’m making objective observations, Your Highness.”

"Yeah, you might stop bitching if you eat.”

“I _will_ kill you." Taeyong says through gritted teeth. "Jaehyun will help me hide your body, I hope you know this.”

The car slows to a stop, and Doyoung sighs, ignoring the threat. “Traffic is shit. Let’s get out of here. Grab something to eat.”

"Do you not know _who_ I am?” Taeyong demands. “How hard did you hit your head on that bathroom floor?”

“Come on, babo,” Doyoung says, reaching under the car’s seat and pulling out a bag of clothes. He takes out an oversized nondescript black jean jacket, baseball cap, sunglasses, and a pack of face masks. “Live a little.”

It’s a challenge. It’s maybe coming from a place of pity of Taeyong’s sheltered life in addition to mocking. But above all, it’s a test. To see if he will take a risk if he’ll do something unexpected,

Taeyong licks his lips, eyes darting from Doyoung to Jaehyun.

“Hey, I don’t officially condone you going place,” Jaehyun says. “What I mean is, if you make the autonomous decision to go somewhere, I just follow. I handle the situation. I don’t control you.”

Doyoung is taking off his suit jacket and pulling on a grey hoodie from the bag over his button-down. Over that, a leather jacket. He runs a hand through his hair, mussing it up a bit and then grabs a face mask. He’s completely transformed from a chic professional into …well, a nondescript young man. “Well? Traffic is still stopped. What are you going to do, baboya?”

Getting out of the car to go eat with Doyoung would be a terrible choice. A disastrous decision. A calamity.

But he _is_ kind of hungry.

“Fine,” Taeyong snaps, shrugging out of his suit jacket and reaching for the big jean one. He pulls it on then grabs a mask. “Let’s go fucking eat.”

Between the three of them, Taeyong isn’t sure who is more shocked.

Doyoung cocks a brow and unlocks to door. “Follow me, then.”

Walking through the streets of Seoul as the sunsets is a new experience. Which, Taeyong realizes, is kind of sad. But he appreciates every moment, drinking in the sights around him. He notices Doyoung sparing glances at him, clearly amused, but even that can’t ruin the moment. This spontaneity is so wonderfully foreign he can’t even let his arch-nemesis ruin the moment.

Freedom.

They end up eating at some tiny hole in the wall barbeque restaurant.

The two of them sit facing each other in the back. Jaehyun excuses himself to sit by the entrance and make calls, updating the security team. They’re probably having a field day. This has never happened. Prince Taeyong doesn’t break protocol or plan. But Kim Doyoung does.

They order soju and meat which Doyoung begins to grill.

Together, they pick at the banchan.

He _was_ hungry. Taeyong eats all the cumber salad, knowing Doyoung won’t touch it. He’s halfway through it when he realizes that it’s weird, he still remembers all these little facts about his former best friend.

And he tries not to stare at Doyoung, but it’s hard with him sitting directly across. He looks different like this, younger. More like the Doyoung he remembers. But he knows it’s not true. They’re different people, both of them have grown up and changed so much.

“Are you feeling better?” Doyoung asks him after a few minutes.

Taeyong refuses to admit his defeat, to give in. “Well, I am not mad at the current situation. The food tastes good. Though, you are a terrible influence. I can’t believe they’re letting you run for president. The ROK is doomed if this is our future.”

“Stop acting like I’m evil,” Doyoung says, scowling into his soju. His adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, a distracting motion. His entire neck is too long and far too distracting. Jaehyun once even showed him an Instagram account dedicated to just photos of Doyoung's neck. It makes Taeyong feel much less alone knowing that he's not the only one who finds it so distracting. “I’m just trying to make a change, and this is the only way I know how.”

“Bullshit.”

“You’ve been taught our country’s fucking history,” Doyoung says, suddenly heated. “You should know better than anyone that given the past century, from the implementation of ‘democracy’ and the leaders that came with it, that the people really don’t have reason to trust. It was like back then authority existed to steal people’s money and just make them suffer. Look, I know your family was still tied to it, regardless of choice – but don’t try to deny the shitty track record.” 

And the thing is, Taeyong knows exactly what he’s talking about. For the first two decades, the country’s attempt at democracy was like Jaehyun after an ungodly amount of soju – wavering back and forth and left and right, but forward, nonetheless. It took forty damn years just for a peaceful transfer of power between presidents. The country’s democracy has had a troubled history regarding succession, corruption, and elections. But with each passing president, democracy has become more rooted. This is something his family is proud of.

However, there has always been the issue of each elected president proceeding to choose their own people to work in various institutions and levels of government – to control all aspects of government right down to the police. And Taeyong is cognizant of these issues, perhaps more than anyone else given his education.

But as the prince, he is just a figurehead. He has no power. Not real power, no ability to actually call out these issues or propose solutions. The law controls how much influence the royal family has, which is none beyond that of the instruction of the president.

“During the Japanese occupation, fathers used to tell their sons, _don’t follow authority unless it’s a matter of personal safety. Obey, but internally defy_." Taeyong recites. "Those attitudes continued when it came to presidents for a long time, too.”

Doyoung puts some more meat on the grill. “It’s just hard for people to trust leaders because by electing them, it’s putting them, putting _us_ in a position of superiority. This imposed democracy doesn’t really work with the foundation of our country and culture. At least, in the past, it hasn’t. Things are changing. I want to be a part of that.”

“If a president or any politician, really, can be seen to represent their constituents instead of manipulating them for their own gain, they’re usually more trusted, you know,” Taeyong says, wrapping a piece of meat in lettuce and eating it in one bite. “Just some advice.”

“Changes need to happen to the entire system, you realize that, don’t you?” Doyoung asks earnestly, flipping over a piece of meat more aggressively than necessary. “The president has too much power. It’s a damn disaster of a bureaucracy, resulting in the massive problem of inaction. Everyone, including senior bureaucrats, fear doing anything without the president’s express approval. And 5 years is fine for a top elected official, but not for everyone else. There needs to be longer more permanent people in positions to make change because right now, it’s like nothing truly gets done. After all, we can’t plan long term. We need to not just work for now, we need to work for the future as well.”

Knowing something and seeing are different things. Taeyong’s always known Doyoung was smart. Even as kids, Doyoung had a quick and analytical mind. He won so many games like that, being able to make tough choices with the facts given and taking the risk to win. Ironically, only now Taeyong is realizing these are what makes him a good politician. Knowing Doyoung’s completed a bachelor’s degree and gotten his masters were just facts. But seeing this, seeing how smart he is, and how passionate and applied his knowledge is…is something else. Doyoung has a vision for the future. Goals. And that is admirable.

“And don’t get me started on the _Law of Public Sentiment_ being above the actual law,” Doyoung huffs, putting some cooked meat in front of Taeyong. “It’s absolute _bullshit_. Truly there is not a more frightening monster that needs caging if we’re to avoid mob rule.”

“Okay, _wow_ ,” Taeyong blinks. He’s honestly impressed. He almost forgets about the food. Almost. “So, you want to become president and invoke huge change. Wouldn’t you being elected be change enough? A reflection of a country willing to take a risk and trust someone so young and inexperienced?”

“What this country needs is a leader who is strong and _brave_ enough to occasionally go against what most people want,” Doyoung says, eyes flickering to Taeyong’s, “or believe is right.”

He must mean their marriage. At least, that’s what Taeyong’s mind automatically goes to. But he could mean a million other things. Their marriage though is a legal anomaly due to historical privilege. It isn’t right that their marriage is possible but illegal for the rest of the nation. A hypocrisy they’re both living with.

"It isn't about me. It's about everyone else. Us as a whole. The best for _all_."

“Well, good luck, I guess.” Taeyong offers awkwardly. He’s not sure if he means it, because he hates Doyoung. But maybe he admires him. Doyoung has a vision. He’s clearly intelligent and well versed in their country’s politics. And he’s _passionate_. Even if his ideas seem too far-out to ever be a reality. He’d probably end up drawing in assassins to Bugaksan behind the Blue House for the first time since 1968 (at least, that’s what they’ve released to the public. Reality may differ, though Taeyong isn’t kept privy to those kinds of secrets).

They eat in silence for a few minutes. This new information, new perspective on Doyoung turns over in Taeyong’s mind, trying to piece this all together. It doesn’t change the fact he’s being blackmailed. It doesn’t change the fact Doyoung hates him.

“So…what kind of movies do you like? Dramas?” Doyoung asks, surely just to fill the silence. “Are you still a sucker for cheesy kdrama romances with predictable happy endings?”

Taeyong frowns. “What’s wrong with romances? Or happy endings?”

“Okay, _prince charming,”_ Doyoung sneers, rolling his eyes. Right back to his typical antagonistic self. “What do you think are the most romantic spots in the city, then? Wait, let me guess – Banpo Bridge Park and Namsan Tower.”

“Well, definitely not Namsan considering the fact the mountain used to have the KCIA domestic spying offices there. Nothing is sexy about _being taken to Namsan_. I would rather not be blindfolded, apprehended then beaten – or worse.” Taeyong shudders. He’s read the reports. He wishes he hadn’t. “And besides, I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been to either. They’re too high-profile. Too many people and too many cameras.”

“Honestly, hyung, your life is kind of sad,” Doyoung says. “You’re probably the biggest romantic in this damn city and yet you’re missing out of the romance of Seoul. It’s a tragedy.”

Taeyong shifts in his seat. He’s full now and just wants to go home. His bed is calling to him. His nephew is probably looking for him. “Let’s get out of here.”

Checking his watch, an elegant expensive thing, Doyoung nods. “Yeah, it’s getting late.” He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet. “Don’t worry about the meal my dear husband, it’s on me.”

“You’re lucky we’re sitting on the ground, or else I would have kicked you hard beneath the table. And maybe between the legs, if my aim was good.”

“Baboya! Think about your future children!”

Taeyong stands, waving at Jaehyun who’s still by the door. He’s sipping on a coffee, looking content. He points to his phone.

Reaching into his pocket, Taeyong pulls out his own phone.

**WOOJAE**

Y’all are so cute lmao

But everyone is freaking out

I told them you need life experience and it’s a d8

But they still sent one of our cars

It’s outside ready when you are

**HRH LTY**

This isn’t a date.

Thank you.

Exhaustion hits him, and maybe the soju. He only had one bottle, but he’s never had any tolerance for alcohol. A fact he will continue to hide from the public and _especially_ from Doyoung for as long as possible.

“Well. Thank you for the meal.” Taeyong says awkwardly. It feels wrong to thank Doyoung. The man is extorting him for political gain. “I will wash your clothes and have them returned in a timely manner.”

“It’s fine, they look good on you. Text me when you get home, babo.”

“Drink bleach.”

+

The next morning when Taeyong checks his phone he has dozens of messages. Mostly from his sister and Jaehyun. Links to articles. Screenshots of tweets.

With a sinking feeling in his stomach, he clicks one of the links.

It takes him to Instagram, to Doyoung’s account. It’s a picture of their table at the restaurant last night. Of Taeyong. It’s cut off at his lips, not showing the rest of his face – but it’s still enough. Everyone can tell it is him.

He scrolls down to the caption: _impromptu meals to curb the hanger #goodtimes #YourVoteMatters_

For some reason, Taeyong still feels betrayed. He should have known better than be lulled into faux comfort while eating.

**HRH LTY**

What the fuck?

You didn’t ask permission to post that.

I’m going to be in even more shit, I hope you realize this.

I don’t why I keep getting surprised when you act like an asshole.

**ENEMY NO1**

Gm fucking chill out

It’s not a big deal

Idk what u expect from me?? Im just doing what I told u I would

Stop acting so surprised

**HRH LTY**

You're a fucking dick.

**ENEMY NO1**

Omg ur so fucking sensitive

Everyone loves the pic

Taeyong throws his phone across his bed. He’s been awake five minutes and his day is ruined.

Only Doyoung has this power.

Climbing out of bed, Taeyong decides to clear his schedule. He grabs his switch. He’s going to go play games all day. As a treat. To destress.

God, Taeyong wishes his father wasn’t just a figurehead. He would love to call the KCIA and have his enemies taken out right now. Or at least scared into submission. Whatever the modern equivalent would be to taking Doyoung to Namsam.


	4. Mixed Feelings On Main

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one:  
> Literally no one:  
> Doyoung: send nudes

**May 3, 2003**

“Hyung!” Doyoung giggled, lacing his fingers between Taeyong’s and dragging him forward. They pushed their way through the crowd at the edge of the dancefloor. “Look at them!”

In a ball gown that shimmered in the light with every movement, Taeyong watched as his newlywed aunt took her husband’s hand and began to waltz. It was enchanting. She grinned at her husband as they spun across the dance floor, lights flashing as people took photos.

She looked like the princess she was. It was like a cartoon fairy-tale or the stories Doyoung passed on from his halmoni. Impossibly special, the air thick with something like magic that made the hairs on Taeyong’s arms rise.

“She’s _beautiful_ ,” Doyoung whispered, squeezing his hand. “They both are.”

“They’re in love,” he said in a small voice. He couldn’t look away from the bride and the groom as they spun across the floor.

Earlier, during the family’s traditional ceremony in hanbok, Taeyong had thought they were like a king and queen from another century. But this – this was a modern princess and her love. Right here and right now, and everyone couldn’t stop celebrating. 

Doyoung nodded in agreement. His mother had parted in shaggy dark hair down the center hours earlier, but he’d managed to muss it back to normal, falling into his eyes. “Weddings are magical. Royal ones especially.”

“Really?”

The song was ending, and the married couple was embracing, eyes locked on each other. It was like there was no one else in the room. They only had eyes for each other. Partners for life. Soulmates. Best friends.

"Yes,” Doyoung answered, pulling Taeyong forward onto the dance floor. A popular love song began to play. “I can’t wait to get married.”

They weren’t very good dancers, despite the hours they spent together dancing around the palace grounds, much to the dismay of palace staff. It was still fun, and that was all that mattered. They were young enough and sheltered enough neither yet felt embarrassed about the eyes watching the prince and the son of the speaker of the national assembly dance together like the crazy kids they were.

"Yeah, but you’re not the prince. You getting married can be special.” Taeyong said, taking both his best friend’s hands in his, beginning to spin. “If I ever get married it’ll be a big deal. I want it to be special. _Magical_.”

“But isn’t getting married magical? No matter what?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

Doyoung’s hair spun around his head in a halo and he was smiling wide, gums and all. It was one of Taeyong’s favourite things to see. “I just like the idea of having your _person_ , you know? Finding your soulmate and being with them forever, having them no matter what. I want to be loved that like. I don’t care about the rest.”

“Me too.”

“Marry me, hyung,” Doyoung said without pausing. He was laughing now as they spun around the dancefloor. Other people were dancing now too, and they had to be careful not to collide.

Taeyong snorted. He was used to his best friend saying silly things but even this surprised him. “What?”

"I’m serious!” Doyoung said. “You’re my best friend. Won’t we always be there for each other? Why not?”

"We’re eight, Doyoungie.”

“So what?” Doyoung rolled his eyes dramatically. “You’re the prince. The rules aren’t the same for you.”

Taeyong, breathing heavy, headed towards a drinks table, dragging Doyoung along.

He grabbed a glass of juice, downed it and then shrugged. “Well, do you love me?” He asked. “I don’t want to marry you unless you love me. That’s how it works.”

Wiping the juice-stache on his upper lip with his arm, Doyoung grinned. “Of course, I love you, hyung.”

“Well, I don’t have a royal family ring to give you,” Taeyong said seriously, brows slowly knitting together. He knew everyone who married into the royal family got their own ring to signify their status. His parents had been talking about the topic for weeks, not sure if his new uncle should have to pay for his own himself since he had the finances to. Or something. Taeyong didn’t really understand it. “I’ll ask my noona about it tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“The ajeoshi who married them…he’s over there,” Doyoung said after a moment. He pointed at the wedding officiant from earlier, who was leaning against the far wall. He seemed to have a glass bottle in his hand, and seemed half asleep, wobbling and unsteady on his feet.

“He looks tired,” Taeyong observed. “He should go to bed.”

A familiar look slowly began to etch itself onto Doyoung’s face. A small smile and intense eyes. His _scheming_ face. “I have an idea.”

"Oh dear,” Taeyong groaned as his best friend linked their fingers again and pulled him towards the officiant. He had been dragged along on enough of Doyoung’s schemes to know that they were probably going to break a rule. His best friend seemed to think that just because Taeyong was the prince that he couldn’t get in trouble. Which was _not_ true.

“Ajeoshi!” Doyoung greeted the man, pulling Taeyong down into a bow. “We wanted to thank you for doing so well earlier. The prince” -he pushed Taeyong forward- “wanted to thank you personally for taking care of his family so well.”

He stumbled forward, blinking up at the man in blank panic. “Uh, yes. Thank you.”

The man swayed on his feet, his faced flushed red. “Oh, well. This is not necessary, Your Highness. Just doing my job.”

"Of course,” Doyoung nodded seriously. “You seemed so professional. I don’t know how you could remember all the parts of such an important ceremony.”

Taeyong shot his best friend an incredulous look, unsure where this was going. He didn’t want to talk to this man. He wanted to back to dancing before their nannies came and shooed them off to bed. Or worse, their mothers.

“It’s a craft,” the man said, taking a long swig from his bottle. “You might think it’s just words, but there is real power in ceremony. And a well-done ceremony. Magic, even.”

“ _Magic_ ,” Doyoung repeated eagerly, eyes wide. It seemed so genuine, the awe and admiration. If Taeyong hadn’t seen his best friend use such a voice and look to scam palace staff into letting them sneak sweets out of the kitchens regularly he might have believed it. “Ajeoshi, do you think you could create such magic for a second time tonight? As a favour to the prince?”

The man’s eyes went to Taeyong, slow and a bit unfocused. “Of course, Your Highness. That’s my job.”

“Can you marry us?” Doyoung asked. He was looking around the ballroom. “Not here, obviously.”

“Marry you?”

“We’re best friends,” Taeyong said. “ _Soulmates_.”

The man looked at them for a long moment before shrugging and finishing off his drink. “Alright then, Your Highness.”

Within ten minutes they were in an empty meeting room of the palace. And the tired, swaying officiant had finished saying the words. He was leaning against the table, eyes barely open. He had the boys scrawl their names on a certificate he had in his pocket, a crumpled spare from another wedding.

Taeyong and Doyoung were holding hands and facing each other, stupid pleased grins mirroring each other.

“Are we supposed to kiss?” Taeyong asked after a moment. He’d never kissed anymore on the lips before. “Like in the movies?”

Doyoung wrinkled his nose like a bunny. “Hmm. Just this once. To seal the magic in.”

“Okay,” Taeyong agreed, nodding seriously. He bit his lip, staring into his best friend’s laughing dark eyes. They were married. Best friends for life. They never had to worry about the pressure about in the future – they were set for life.

A low snore came from the wedding officiant.

Taeyong’s eyes widened and together, they giggled at the sight. He was going to be in so much trouble when the palace staff eventually found him!

Doyoung squeezed his hands. “On the count of three?”

Taeyong nodded.

“One...” They slowly leaned in closer. “Two…” Their faces were almost touching, Taeyong’s small rectangle glasses providing the only barrier. “Three!”

It was a quick press of their lips together, nothing more. They pulled apart just as quick, laughing flustered from the absurdity of it all.

“Hyung?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you, you know,” Doyoung said with a shake of his head. He looked so pleased with himself for managing to make this all happen. “And I forever will. I promise, hyung.”

“I know, Doie,” Taeyong said through a yawn. It was almost midnight. Way past their bedtimes. “I love you too. Best friends for life.”

“Now let’s try to sneak back to your room without getting caught. If anyone asks, we’ve been asleep for hours.”

+

**Present Day**

After Doyoung posts the photo online, Taeyong stays annoyed for a few days. It’s the kind of quiet, distant type of mood.

Jaehyun and his sister notice, but neither pry. For which, Taeyong is thankful for. He knows he would probably spill the details of his situation, too caught up in his feelings to care. Because Doyoung, the devil himself, is right about that.

Taeyong _is_ sensitive. He’s always been, it’s just how he is. He’s intense and he’s emotional, and he’s so fucking hard on himself that when someone else criticizes him…he can’t take it. He tries so hard; he knows his faults. He doesn’t need to be called out.

Not by Doyoung. Not again.

It’s late and he’s in bed playing animal crossings when his phone starts buzzing.

He knows who it is without looking. Doyoung’s been texting him intermittently for days. Nothing important, so Taeyong hasn’t responded. Just daily updates. A picture of his breakfast, his outfit, a complaint about how politics is all old men who don’t know shit.

**ENEMY NO1**

Hey husband 😊

Baboya

**HRH LTY**

Fuck off

**ENEMY NO1**

Send nudes

😉

Taeyong has to read the message three times before it sinks in what Doyoung’s said. He’s mocking him. Teasing. Crass and trying to get a rise out of Taeyong, which he’s unfortunately succeeded in. He decides to play coy, giving Doyoung a taste of his own brazen medicine for once.

**HRH LTY**

????

Why?

You’ve seen me naked.

**ENEMY NO1**

Not since you hit puberty

As kids doesn’t count

Send nudes 😉

**HRH LTY**

Why do I have to be the one to send them?

He watches the typing bubble pop up and disappears for a few times before he realizes his mistake, eyes widening in horror. He races to type out a message before Doyoung responds.

**HRH LTY**

PLS DON’T SEND ME NUDES

OMG PLS DON’T

**ENEMY NO1**

….don’t get 2 excited

What Taeyong receives is a picture of Doyoung shirtless in bed with a sheetmask and a poetry book on his chest. His shoulders are broad and collarbones deeply shadowed. There is a comical number of pillows surrounding him.

He chuckles to himself, lips curling into a smile. Doyoung looks ridiculous. 

**HRH LTY**

Cute. You look cozy.

**ENEMY NO1**

U think so?

**HRH LTY**

Looks can be deceiving.

**ENEMY NO1**

I have room if u want to join

😉

**HRH LTY**

Pass.

**ENEMY NO1**

Can you come to a high school this week? Tues

I’m giving a speech about following ur dreams etc

**HRH LTY**

I’ll have to check my schedule.

Can I let you know in the morning?

**ENEMY NO1**

Yeah

Gn lover

**HRH LTY**

Goodnight, Doyoung.

Turning off his lamp and pulling his blankets over him, Taeyong sighs. The fact that this time Doyoung asked him about going to an event doesn’t escape him. He _asked_ , instead of telling Taeyong. It’s a little thing, and it really shouldn’t matter.

But unfortunately, Taeyong is inescapably himself. Every little thing matters, every intention of someone’s words and actions he accounts for. He’s sensitive. He picks up on the bad _and_ the good.

+

Tuesday morning is sunny.

Taeyong wears Gucci sunglasses and a grey Armani suit, determined not to let Doyoung ruin such a beautiful day.

“You look very handsome today.” Doyoung greets him with a wide smile. “And smell divine.”

“Fuck off.”

“You eat breakfast?” Doyoung asks them once they’re situated inside the car. He’s wearing a dress shirt with the top buttons undone. He's always wearing his shirts with too few buttons done up, something that's irked Taeyong over the years. Over the shirt, he wears a navy cashmere sweater that looks so soft Taeyong is tempted to reach out and touch it. He doesn’t.

Taeyong narrows his eyes, suspicious. “Yes.”

Doyoung struggles in his seat for a moment, nearly kicking Taeyong in process, but eventually fishes something out of his pants pocket. “Hmm, I bet you’d still be up for a treat?” He holds up a lollipop.

“It’s not sour is it?”

Jaehyun snorts. “Your Highness, do you really have that little trust?”

“No, it’s not sour," Doyoung says, tossing it onto Taeyong’s lap. “You’re welcome.”

Frowning, Taeyong takes the lollipop and unwraps it. He licks it cautiously. Watermelon. He wonders if Doyoung remembered it’s his favourite.

Enjoying the sweet treat, Taeyong gazes out the window and lets Jaehyun and Doyoung talk about the school they are visiting and politics and of course, social media. Unsurprisingly, Doyoung is a favourite topic online these days.

When Taeyong looks up, Doyoung is staring at him. He has his lip between his teeth and wide brown eyes locked on Taeyong, watching him. It’s times like these that Taeyong wishes he could have an uglier arch-nemesis. He looks like he could be on the cover of GQ with that intense smoulder.

“What?” He asks, swirling his tongue around the candy.

Quickly, Doyoung blinks and shakes his head. “Nothing. It’s nothing, hyung.”

“Weirdo.”

The rest of the ride passes quickly after that, but Taeyong swears he catches Doyoung staring at him at least three more times. He’ll have to ask Jaehyun about it later.

“I will get out first,” Doyoung tells him when they pull up to the high school. “Then when you get out after, it’s more dramatic. I mean, I know I’m hard to follow behind considering how good looking I am, but you should manage.”

Taeyong scowls, adjusting his suit jacket. He’s not used to being considered the second most handsome man in the room, though Jaehyun does give him a run for his money. But Jaehyun is a different type of handsome, more traditionally handsome and masculine. Suaver. Or something. Not that he would share these admissions with either of them. “Modesty is a virtue, Kim Doyoung.”

"Lies,” Doyoung dismisses him with a smirk and roll of his eyes. “Just let me get out and let the press get their pictures. Then, after like seven seconds come out behind me. Boom.”

“Seven seconds?”

“I don’t know, I’m trying to provide you with specifics. You work well with a plan, that’s all.”

Taeyong’s scowl deepens at the fact Doyoung still knows things about him. It seems like they still know so much about each other, even after all this time. “Fine.”

When the car stops and Doyoung steps out gracefully. And he does count down from seven.

On seven, he climbs out of the car with an amicable smile and wave of his hand. He’s running on autopilot. This he can handle.

The press and the uniformed students scream his name. And it’s crazier than usual. Probably because of the teenagers.

He’s so distracted by it all, he doesn’t even notice Doyoung bending slightly in front of him, still facing the crowd.

“What are you doing?”

“Climb on,” Doyoung says, laughing. “Piggyback.”

Taeyong stares at Doyoung’s broad back in horrified confusion. Princes do not receive piggybacks. But people are watching. They’re calling out for him to get on. He can’t make a scene, deny friendship, their closeness.

“You fucking owe me,” he hisses in Doyoung’s ear when he grabs his shoulders and is hoisted up on Doyoung’s back. He’s stronger than he looks, has always been. His damn hot Dorito shaped body. And he carries Taeyong as if he weighs nothing.

The crowd and press, unsurprisingly, love it.

And what’s even more surprising, is that Taeyong does too.

Doyoung carries him, and they’re both laughing, putting on a show up to the front doors of the school where the headmistress is waiting, looking strict and a bit taken aback by their ministrations.

"Carry me!”

Taeyong drops and then bends slightly, bracing as Doyoung jumps on. They continue around the school courtyard, cameras flashing and reporters calling out. The security team doesn’t really know what to do, but Jaehyun laughs, following them close behind.

When Doyoung drops back to the ground, Taeyong pulls him in a low bow. “Thank you for having us here today,” he says through heavy breaths, “it is an honour.”

They receive a tour of the school by the headmistress and other top staff, but it’s all a bit of a blur until they reach the auditorium. The students have piled in, ready to hear whatever Doyoung has to say.

Taeyong stands at the edge of the stage, waving at the students when they spot him.

"He's just checking out the audio situation," Jaehyun says.

"What?"

"Doyoung. You keep looking for him." Jaehyun says, hands folded in front of him, professional as ever. "He just stepped into the audio booth over there. You don't need to worry."

Taeyong scoffs, straightening his shoulders. "I wasn't _worrying_ about him."

"But you were looking for him."

"Shut up, Jae."

Soon enough, Doyoung does come out and goes to the podium.

“Good afternoon everyone, you have a beautiful academy.” Doyoung begins his speech. He looks as sharp as ever, like a dream politician, not a real one. Maybe one from a kdrama, Taeyong concedes. A cheesy one that doesn’t care about being realistic and casting just an entirely hot cast for the sake of aesthetics. “Thank you for having me, and my special friend today.”

The auditorium erupts with noise, and Taeyong from his seat on stage behind the podium waves his hand and grins. He loves being able to meet all these kids, make them feel like they can do anything if they try hard, but also remind them to care for themselves and not work _too_ hard. That’s partially why he doesn’t really hate going to all these events with Doyoung. They are for good causes, fundamentally.

Then his eyes meet Doyoung’s and Doyoung _winks_.

Taeyong’s smile falters. Because for a horrifying second, he forgot that this wasn’t _real_. It was barely a moment, a passing feeling. The wink was playful it was flirtatious, it was a secret between friends until it was a reminder of the blackmail, of the scam. The reality of the situation comes crashing back down on Taeyong and he still forces a smile back out to the crowd.

“I would like to now proceed to thank you for giving me hope,” Doyoung proceeds on with his speech, oblivious to the effects he just had on Taeyong. “As youth you give me hope for all the good things yet to come. When I look out at this crowd, I see a room of potential. A room of passion. A room of love.”

Taeyong fidgets in his seat, picking at the pleats in his dress pants. He wonders how Doyoung can say such great things and have amazing ideas and still do this thing to Taeyong. Was there really no easier way to assure his win in this election?

“And I don’t want any of you to reflect and be like, well, that guy doesn’t mean me. _I do mean you_ ,” Doyoung says earnestly, grabbing the microphone and beginning to walk around the stage. “I mean every single one of you. We are our own worst critics, and if you judge yourself based on who you are today, you are dismissing the rest of your life. Need I remind you all that I was once labelled a disaster on the ROK’s image? That was only a handful of years ago. Look at me now. Look at me tomorrow. Look at me in five years, in twenty.”

Doyoung is a good speaker. He is saying great things. But the thing is, the types of things Doyoung is promising all these students, they don’t apply to princes. Taeyong is the exception to every rule. He is and forever will be judged by his title and controlled and limited by rules out of his control. He’s made peace with this, but it still feels weird to hear Doyoung make this speech and know that everyone else gets a chance. Everyone but him.

He glances behind him to Jaehyun, who is standing looking very official and handsome with his hands folded neatly in front of him. When they lock eyes, he knows Jaehyun understands. He always does.

"Do you wish to leave, Your Highness?”

“No….it’s just…no.”

The rest of the speech and visit passes in a blur.

"Again, thank you for having us today, headmistress. I was an honour." Taeyong says when it is time to go. He, Doyoung, and the rest of their small army of staff and security bow.

"Ah, it was really you two that did us the honour!" She tells them. "The students loved seeing you and hearing the speech. They will be talking about it for weeks, I'm sure. And Your Highness, you and Mr. Kim made the visit so easy to enjoy, you two have great chemistry"

Taeyong freezes caught aback at such an absurd compliment.

But before he can respond, Doyoung is bowing again, thanking her and dismissing their party. "We have a special friendship, the prince and I. Thank you once again."

They’re finally about to leave, the security team escorting them back to the car when a young girl in the school's uniform calls out to them.

“Mr. Kim!”

They pause, turning to find a young girl with a chin covered in acne and the prettiest long lashes Taeyong has ever seen.

“Yes?”

“I know I can’t vote or anything, but I was wondering if you get elected... if you can try to make it so my mum doesn’t have to work as much.” The girl rambles, eyes shining. “It’s just her supporting me and my younger brother and she works so hard and is always tired-”

“What’s your name?”

“Jisoo.”

“Jisoo, I promise I will try,” Doyoung says with a grave nod of his head. “I hope you and your family a bright and healthy future. I will do the best I can.”

The girl bows, face flushed as they continue to get into the car, rushed by the security team.

No one but Taeyong notices how Doyoung slips a handful of bills into Jaehyun’s hand with a quick whisper and nod. It’s clearly money for the girl. But done in a casual, discreet manner. Not to embarrass the girl? Not to draw attention to himself? Taeyong doesn’t know.

But it takes Taeyong off guard. He keeps seeing these things about Doyoung that completely opposes everything he knows. Caring. Thoughtful. It’s honestly disconcerting.

"Thanks for coming, hyung,” Doyoung says once the car pulls onto the street. He leans back in his seat and closing his eyes. “It went well. Don’t you think?”

"Yeah, I think so,” Taeyong says, looking out the window as the school disappears from sight. “Weird, but good.”

“Weird?”

Taeyong shrugs, biting his lip. He isn’t about to spill his heart out to Kim fucking Doyoung. “I don’t know. I don’t get high schools. All I know is from movies and dramas. This seemed…different.”

“Yeah, you have missed out on a lot. Have you considered you’re the weirdo?”

“Fuck off.”

“I’m serious, though. You haven’t done so many basic things.” Doyoung says, opening his eyes slowly. He’s half teasing, half pitying Taeyong, and Taeyong’s not sure which is worse. “Like what other twenty-five-year-old doesn’t just go out to restaurants or clubs? Or hasn’t spent an afternoon exploring Gangnam? You’re missing out, babo.”

Taeyong shifts in his seat, wrapping his arms around his chest. “Shut up. You don’t understand. You _never_ have understood.”

“No, don’t pull that crap,” Doyoung says, lips curling up cruelly. “You can do shit; you just don’t even try. You don’t even try to see your options. You just stay in your little safe bubble, doing what you’re told. I’m sure if we weren’t already married, you would be all set up to wed some perfect girl from a good family or maybe even a celebrity. Never me.”

He chokes out a surprised laugh. “No, never _you_. Don’t be absurd. That would never even be a possibility.”

“And don’t you think that’s kind of fucked up?” Doyoung demands. “Not me specifically, but the rules and laws around the concept.”

Taeyong’s gaze flickers to Jaehyun, who is doing his very best to ignore them. He’s listening though. Always listening to the two of them fight.

“And if I do?”

Now it’s Doyoung’s turn to laugh, but it's cold and laced with something dark and bitter. It _hurts_. “Oh right. I forget you’re a nonpartisan figure. Even apparently in the company of friends.”

“We’re not fucking friends. Not anymore.”

“Good,” Doyoung says, pulling out his phone, making a show of ignoring him. “I wouldn’t want to be friends with someone who can’t hold their own beliefs and stand up for them.”

This is low, even for Doyoung. He knows better than anyone how deeply entrenched Taeyong and his entire family are to the core foundational values of their country and culture. He’s tied by so many traditions and laws to behave a certain way, and any other way would be a betrayal to the highest degree: his father isn’t just _his father,_ but the father of the entire country. To go against these expectations would be going against everything he’s been taught and is expected of him. Doyoung _knows_ this. And yet.

“I’m glad we can agree on something.” He mutters, pulling out his own phone. Two can play this game.

+

The rest of his day is packed with meetings, and he doesn’t have a spare moment to lament his antagonism with Doyoung until he’s climbing into bed, his limbs heavy with exhaustion from another long day.

He doesn’t have any messages from Doyoung. What he does have is a series of them from Jaehyun with links to articles about this morning.

**WOOJAE**

Lol you and dy are trending number one worldwide

Ppl are losing their shit over you guys carrying each other

They want to know when the wedding is

Lol…….

**HRH LTY**

That’s insane. Omg.

Why do people even care?

**WOOJAE**

It’s cute, come on

Everyone loves enemies to begrudging friends to lovers

#Dotae is literally trending worldwide

**HRH LTY**

People need a reality check and something better to do.

I can’t wait for this elections season to end.

**WOOJAE**

The people want it to last forever lmao

It’s all in good fun don’t take it too seriously

**HRH LTY**

Have you met me?

Night, Jae.

With a morbid sense of curiosity, Taeyong clicks on the links.

The pictures of Doyoung carrying him…he has to admit …are cute. They’re both laughing, wide smiles. He hadn’t been able to see Doyoung’s face at the time, but his gummy smile is on display and his eyes are curving up with his laughter. It’s endearing. He can understand why people would fall in love with Doyoung.

Even though he knows he shouldn’t, he scrolls down to the comments section. He prepares himself for the worst. But what he finds are only good things. People are saying they seem close, how cute their friendship is, how they’re glad to see both of them having a chance of still acting young despite their positions.

It makes something twist deep in Taeyong’s stomach. He’s not used to people liking him for just acting …. like himself. He’s used to being praised for his manners or his looks, not for impromptu carefree things like this. He likes it.


	5. Taeyong gets dorny (dy horny) and is confused

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I told you, I have plans.”  
> “Do your plans involve other people? Or just you, ice cream, and a cheesy romance movie? Maybe your right hand later?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i was looking at motorcycles and was rly like wow [kawasaki rly said neo got my back](https://www.kawasaki.ca/en-ca/motorcycle/ninja/hypersport/ninja-h2r)
> 
> this is what [bandpo bridge](http://endhguesthouse.weebly.com/uploads/2/1/5/9/21594148/4675741_orig.png) looks like

There’s nothing quite like some 2006 Justin Timberlake to fix a bad day. At least, in Taeyong’s opinion.

Pulling his tie loose, Taeyong presses play and lets the dirty bass start booming through the speakers in his room. Almost instantly, he feels better. Also, the urge to dance.

Rolling his hips while he undoes his shirt’s buttons is cathartic after a long day of meetings with various state officials, discussing economics and GDP. It was somehow both boring and straining, and Taeyong never wants to hear the phrase “defying expectations for a cut amid growing pressure to ease policy”. He’s not even sure what that means. Doyoung probably would with all his stupid degrees.

Taeyong shakes his head quickly, dismissing the thought. He is _not_ going to think about Doyoung. He refuses to. He is going to have a chill Friday night by himself and practise some much-needed self-care. He’s been mentally planning this all day.

Tossing his dirty clothes into the basket, he makes a mental note to do laundry this weekend. He doesn’t trust the staff to clean his clothes or his room, and they’ve begrudgingly gotten used to his quirks. It’s not really that he doesn’t trust them, it’s just that he personally needs the peace of mind to know how and where and with that his things were cleaned with. It’s not weird. The doctors all said to just let him be, that having a sense of control is probably needed, considering the rest of Taeyong’s life.

He pulls on loose cotton shorts and an oversized white shirt, happy to be in comfy clothes for the night.

Heading into his bathroom, he spins then moves his shoulders to the beat. He puts on a headband, pushing back his hair, all the while dancing and watching himself in the mirror.

Then he removes his makeup. Taeyong considers showering but decides to put on a sheetmask and tidy up first and shower after. Depending on how hard he ends up dancing. JT has that effect on him. (Timberlake. The Canadian Prime Minister will never have the same effect, though he seems nice enough the few times Taeyong has met him, but it’s hard to tell with politicians. Especially colonizers.)

Music blaring, hair back, sheetmask on, Taeyong begins to tidy up his room while dancing.

His room isn’t even messy, it never is, but he still feels the need to clean. He cleans his mirrors, wipes down all the surfaces. It’s just maintenance, a peace of mind and a sense of control amongst the rest of his crazy life.

He’s just finishing up, considering what movie to watch when the music cuts out and his ringtone instead plays out over the speakers.

He frowns, going over to his desk and picking up his phone.

**_INCOMING CALL: ENEMY NO1_ **

He declines the call.

Taeyong grabs his laptop and flops down onto his bed. Seulgi, one of his idol friends had texted him about a good drama she’d recently watched. And she knows exactly the kind of stuff he likes, so Taeyong has been looking forward to it. It will distract him from his own problems. His own drama.

His phone rings again. Doyoung, again. He declines, again.

Sighing, Taeyong unlocks his phone.

**ENEMY NO1**

Hey are you busy tonight

Wanna hang

Let me know your plans

Hey

Hey

Hyung

Babe

Do you want to do smth together??

Pick up ur phone

Taeyong doesn’t respond. He just opens a new browser and sits back in bed.

His phone rings again.

“What do you want?” Taeyong sighs, answering the call. He puts it on speakerphone and sets it next to him, lying flat against his duvet.

Through the phone, Doyoung barks out a startled giggle. It would be cute if it were anyone else. “Is that any way to greet your husband?”

Closing his eyes, Taeyong tries to find his happy place again. He’s relaxing. He feels good. He will not let his night be ruined. “What do you want?”

“Come out with me tonight.”

Clearly, the supercilious assumption has been made that Taeyong had nothing better to do after nine on a Friday night. Which isn’t technically wrong, but still.

“I have plans.”

“Lies.” Doyoung’s smile is audible through the phone.

Under his sheetmask, Taeyong pouts. “You shouldn’t call your prince a liar. It’s bad for public morale. I have an image to uphold.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t want to ruin your image.” A pause. “So, I’ll pick you up in thirty minutes?”

“I told you, I have plans.”

“Do your plans involve other people? Or just you, ice cream, and a cheesy romance movie? Maybe your right hand later?”

Taeyong rolls onto his stomach, peeling the mask off and dropping it into the garbage. “Don’t be crass.”

“Thirty minutes then?”

“I also don’t have any ice cream,” Taeyong says, offhandedly. “A shame, really. Jaehyun told the staff to stop letting me have it after nine. Traitor.”

“ _Okay_ ,” Doyoung says, “I’ll pick you up in thirty minutes and we can get ice cream on the way. Can you sneak out?”

“You realize I live in a fucking palace, right? I can’t just sneak out. This is a massive estate with many buildings and large open courtyards enclosed by park.”

“Yes, hyung, I am very familiar. I remember always winning at hide and seek.” He chuckles. Unfortunately, Taeyong remembers that too. It had driven him insane, never being able to best the younger boy. “I’ll pick up you on the southeast side.”

It’s a bad idea. The whole thing. Taeyong still doesn’t quite trust Doyoung, though a part of him is beginning to remember why they were such close friends once. But sneaking out of Deoksugung Palace will be no small task. He’ll be caught, if not by security on-site then by the cameras. But he can’t ask security to come with him, even asking Jaehyun would be inconveniencing too many people. And Taeyong knows that Doyoung wants him to come alone and not bring the KCIA. To break the rules for him. “I don’t know…”

“Please, hyung.”

Taeyong wonders if this a challenge too. If this is a test to see if he will be boring and follow the rules, or if he has any agency left in his life. If it is, he wants to prove Doyoung wrong, just for the sake of it. “Why? What do you have planned?”

“It’s not about the campaign. Don’t think about politics, just for tonight.” Doyoung tells him quickly. An impossible task. They’re doomed to fail, and he hasn’t even agreed to go. “This is just for you. I want to show you something. To take you somewhere.”

Rolling out of bed and grabbing his phone, Taeyong walks into his closet and begins to look around. “For _me_? That is suspicious.”

“Oh my god, hyung, is it so suspicious for me to care about you?”

A flush instantly climbs up Taeyong’s neck, and he’s glad Doyoung can’t see him. He bites his lip for a long moment, shaking his head. He will have to rush to do his makeup, he realizes. “Fine. Thirty minutes. What do I wear?”

“Something casual. And windproof.”

+

He doesn’t know how he manages it, but Taeyong makes it out of the palace grounds. It’s nothing short of a miracle. His heart is still racing as he steps out into the city streets, but he’s done it.

It’s chilly out, a slight breeze biting at his skin as he crosses the street as casually as possible in his skinny jeans, grey hoodie and an army green bomber jacket. He has the hood up and a mask on too, not taking any chances.

There’s an American coffee shop chain on the corner, and he debates going inside to wait, just to stay warm. A few people are milling about, probably either going home from work or out for the night. It’s a bit after eight on a Friday night, and Taeyong realizes that most people have much more adventurous plans than he originally did.

“Hyung!”

Taeyong looks to his left, where a motorcycle is pulling up the curb in one quick easy motion. Its driver raises their arm to wave at him.

“ _Doyoung_?” He trots over, eyes wide. It’s a sleek, sexy matte black machine with an electric green trellis frame. “What the hell? What is that? Can you even drive it?”

“This year’s _Kawasaki Ninja H2R_. Obviously, I can drive it. Now, stop nagging.” Doyoung says dismissively, handing him a helmet. “Get on.”

Taeyong’s can’t stop staring; at the bike, at Doyoung. “Was _this_ the surprise?”

“No. Come on, get on.”

Sending up a prayer, Taeyong puts the helmet on then cautiously swings a leg over the side of the bike and awkwardly climbs on behind Doyoung. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He’s practically atop of Doyoung, leaning into him, legs around him. This was _not_ planned for.

“You’re lucky your ass is so flat so we can both fit comfortably,” Doyoung tells him, almost matter-of-factly. “Now, hold on tight.”

They take off down the street at an alarming speed, weaving between traffic with dangerous agility.

Heart pounding in his chest, Taeyong wraps his arms around Doyoung’s middle, holding onto him for dear life. He shuts his eyes closed, not daring to look how close they get to the vehicles. He doesn’t want to see how the city lights blur around them as they speed by.

The wind bites his bare skin with a new sharpness, and all of it is too much. There’s nothing between their bodies and the rest of the road, it’s just them and the cold city streets.

They slow, for traffic or a red light, Taeyong doesn’t know or care. He shoves his head into Doyoung’s broad leather-clad shoulder, just hoping to arrive in one piece.

“Are you having fun?”

Taeyong squeezes his arms tighter if that’s even possible.

“If it makes you feel better, it’s just a straight jaunt southeast. Not really any turns, which is a shame!” Doyoung revs the engine again, picking up speed. “Curves are fun!”

It feels like forever goes by, but it can’t be more than twenty minutes before its finally over. They stop, Doyoung steadies the bike, then cuts the engine.

“You can let go now, hyung.”

His eyes still squeezed tight, Taeyong isn’t sure he can. He has such a death grip on Doyoung’s middle, he kind of accepted his new life attached here. It’s okay. This is how he lives now, koala bear style.

Doyoung is moving, pulling his helmet off. “Hyung, smile.”

“What?” Taeyong asks, opening his eyes to see Doyoung has his phone out and taking a selfie of them. He’s grinning widely, gums and all. It would be charming if he wasn’t blackmailing Taeyong. “Hey!”

“You look so cute and terrified!” Doyoung laughs, “I’m sending that to Jaehyun.”

“Don’t! He doesn’t know I’m here, idiot.”

“Shit, I can’t believe you snuck out.”

Finally, perhaps with the realization he isn’t about to die and Doyoung is still _Doyoung_ , Taeyong drops his hold. His entire body is stiff from the ride, and he gets off the motorcycle very ungracefully. He takes off the helmet, handing it back to Doyoung and runs a hand through his hair. “What are we doing?”

“Getting ice cream,” Doyoung says, wrapping an arm around him and steering him down the sidewalk. “Didn’t I promise to treat you to something sweet like always?”

 _Like always_. Referring to them as kids scamming government officials into giving them pocket sweets. Or kitchen staff. Or family. Anyone, really. The prince’s sweet tooth is infamous. And his archnemesis clearly hasn’t forgotten.

“You did. Maybe I’m just used to politicians not keeping promises.”

Doyoung laughs, holding the door open to a small café. “That’s rich coming from you, hyung. But I get your point.”

They order their ice cream, keeping their masks up and Taeyong’s gaze down. He’s worried about being seen; what chaos would follow. Even with the mask up, his scar beside his eye and thick brows are recognizable enough.

“Shall we continue on our evening adventure?” Doyoung asks, licking his ice cream and raising a brow suggestively.

Taeyong, enjoying his ice cream too much to fight, nods.

They walk only for a short while before he realizes where they are and where they are headed.

“You’re taking me to see Banpo Bridge?”

Doyoung glances at him, taking another lick at his ice cream. “Yes. Is that okay?”

“Oh,” Taeyong says, ears heating suddenly remembering the last time they’d spoke of the bridge. A typical romantic date spot. “Yes. I’m just surprised.”

“What were you expecting?”

“I don’t know,” Taeyong answers honestly, humming into his ice cream “I never know what to expect from you. You know…all things considering.”

It comes out meaner than he means to. The distaste and distrust he has for Doyoung verbalized ruining the moment. Taeyong hates that he feels bad because _Doyoung_ is the one doing the unfair and wrong thing. But it was also Doyoung who picked him up, bought him ice cream, and is now taking him to see a light show. The dissonance is disorienting and makes Taeyong’s stomach twist into knots and his heart pound.

Finally, Doyoung says, “the last light show for the night starts at nine. We better hurry.”

They make it just in time.

The bridge stretches across the Han River, connecting the north to the south with rainbow fountains at either end. Taeyong as the prince knows a lot about his country’s landmarks and knows the bridge is the longest bridge fountain the world at almost six hundred meters long.

The light shows starts just when they reach the bridge, and together they lean against the railing overlooking the river to watch. The bridge fountain sprays out water in wide, cascading arches over twenty meters high. There are lights and music too, and soon the water begins to move with it all, a beautiful show.

“Oh, it’s lovely,” Taeyong breathes, eyes wide with aw. “I’ve seen pictures of this, but it doesn’t compare at all. It’s breathtaking.”

“I know the feeling,” Doyoung says, but when Taeyong glances beside him, the younger boy is just looking at him with his lips curled into a small smile.

Flushing, uncomfortable under Doyoung’s gaze, he lifts his ice cream. “Thank you. For this. And for taking me here.”

“Of course, hyung,” Doyoung says, and any softness is gone from his voice. He’s teasing again, his voice like honey-coated knives. “I need to make sure you experience life. I don’t want you to miss out.”

His words are kind, but nothing else is. Doyoung is mocking him. He’s pitying Taeyong, in the cruellest way. He’s doing something kind, but only because he feels the need to prove Taeyong can’t do so much. That Taeyong has missed out on so much, while Doyoung hasn’t. It’s not fair. And Taeyong is confused and so tired of dealing with this between them.

“Why do you hate me?” Taeyong finally asks, gaze locked on the light show, trying to enjoy it despite everything else. “To go through all this effort of blackmailing me to help you win the election. Don’t you think that’s a rather bad start to your attempt of being an honest president?”

Doyoung’s brows knit together. “Do you really not get it?”

“I don’t.”

“I don't hate you. But it’s not like I’m you. You’re born into all of this, and everyone loves you. You’re prince fucking charming but hotter. It’s honestly, almost offensive, and if I wasn’t married to you…” Doyoung shakes his head. “But don’t you see? You’re basically a constant reminder that no matter how hard I try, what I can offer is so limited. There are other people just as smart as me, just as good looking. Even if I work twice as hard, even if do all the work – I still don’t compare. And never will.”

It takes him a moment, but then it hits Taeyong: Kim fucking Doyoung is _jealous_ of him. At least, of his position, his privilege. It seems absurd. Impossible. Doyoung is talented and smart and driven, he can have anything he wants without being locked down by rules and national expectations. And yet, he’s jealous of _Taeyong_.

“And that’s why you want to be president? To prove yourself?”

Doyoung snorts and looks at him incredulously. “No. Believe it or not, hyung, I genuinely care about the people.”

Taeyong arches a cynical eyebrow.

"Don’t give me that look,” Doyoung says, offended. He’s finished off his ice cream now. “I’m serious.”

Taeyong doesn’t say anything, just gives a little nod, waiting. He wants to hear this. He wants to know why Doyoung wants this, and he wants to hear it from Doyoung’s lips.

“I care about people.” He reiterates, something raw and earnest in his voice. “Maybe too much. I care about whether people have enough to eat, or if they work too much. I care about whether people are feeling too overwhelmed and dismissed by health services. I care about if people’s bills get paid. I care about if two people can get married, regardless of their gender.”

A moment of silence falls between them, and when Taeyong looks up, Doyoung is giving him a small smile. It’s not the teasing or flirtatious kind. It’s genuine. They share this small thing between them, their marriage. And maybe, well, it’s not a small thing.

Taeyong doesn’t dare ask about why Doyoung feels that way about marriage rights. He wants to. He _desperately_ wants to. Is it just because he sees nothing wrong in it having had this privilege himself? That it clearly shouldn’t be a privilege – just a basic right to marry who you love?

He wants to tell Doyoung that he feels this way too.

Instead, Taeyong just bumps his shoulder into Doyoung’s and says, “you always did like to take care of others.”

“You think?”

He nods. “I remember once you slept over, and my sister was out of the country with my father. I couldn’t go to sleep because I missed her so much. And instead of telling me off for being upset and crying, because I’m sure I was too old to be acting that way, you climbed in bed and sang to me. All night. Soft lullabies.”

The memory glazes across Doyoung’s eyes and he nods. “I remember. You hated me seeing you cry, even then. I sang until you fell asleep. The same lullabies my Halmoni sang for me.”

Doyoung's grandmother. She had played a centric role in raising him, both his parents always busy with politics. She had passed away when they were ten, but not before filling them both with stories of the war. Her family had lost everything. She had brother stuck on the otherwise of the DMZ that she never got see again. For years she lived in the worst poverty, in a hakkobong, a cheap cardboard house like thousands of others. It was Doyoung's halmoni who hadn't been afraid to tell the prince about the realities of their country only decades before. The fact she had married a teacher and had a son that went to university and later became the speaker of the national assembly was amazing. So many people had built their lives up from ruin. It is her influence that probably has made Doyoung the way he is, Taeyong realizes. 

“And you didn’t have to sing to me. You could have been cruel. Kids love to be cruel.” Taeyong says softly, immediately regretting it. He knows how they’re both thinking of their fight. The one that ended their friendship.

“I always loved singing to you. It wasn’t a big deal.” Doyoung confesses. Then, putting on his Politician voice: “it was my patriotic duty to my prince and my country.”

Their laughter rings out in the cool night air.

“I guess I’m just lucky,” Taeyong says honestly, “to have a husband with such an angelic voice.”

“Fuck off.”

And even though Taeyong’s looking out at the rainbow lights of the fountain, he can practically hear Doyoung roll his eyes. And there’s a familiar comfort of antagonism in it that he is thankful for in a very, very, weird way.

He finishes his ice cream as the show ends. His hands are cold, but it was worth it. All of it. The ice cream. The show. “I thought we said no politics tonight.”

“We did.” Doyoung nods. He’s looking at his phone, smiling at something amusing. “Did I ever tell you about how Yuta and I once snuck out in Tokyo and went to a karaoke bar? We ended up getting so drunk we had to call to his security people to come pick us up?”

"No,” He lets out a surprised laugh. Taeyong doesn’t say, _when would you have ever told me that?_ “That sounds absolutely ridiculous. I bet I missed out on some great singing though.”

“Oh, you did,” Doyoung chuckles, wrapping an arm around Taeyong’s shoulders again, pulling him close. They start walking back to his bike, but their pace is slow and leisurely. “Damn Yuta and his love of _oneokrock_. My Japanese is _not_ good enough for the high notes he was trying to make me sing.”

"You guys are pretty close, huh?”

“Yeah,” Doyoung nods. “I guess me and him becoming friends happened after we….”

Taeyong cuts him off, not wanting to pour salt into an open wound. “What else have you two done?”

“We got lost in Seattle once. Then Yuta kept asking for directions, but _only_ asking pretty girls.”

“That sounds on brand.”

“We also snuck out of a meeting in Dubai to go out and get some street food, but then we couldn’t get back into the government buildings because they didn’t believe he was a prince.” Doyoung chuckles. “Literally the entire world forgets Japan still has a monarchy, I swear.”

“What did you do?”

“We googled him and showed them Yuta’s official portrait. It was a shitshow.”

“What else?” Taeyong prods. He likes listening to Doyoung talk like this, carefree and all fond laughter. "What else have you and Yuta done?'

“Once we woke up in this really bougie flat in Rome completely naked with five hundred pesos and no recollection of how or why we were there.”

A million questions run through Taeyong’s head. Namely, _naked? With Prince Yuta? What does that mean? Are they…did they…?_

“Do you mean Euros?” He asks instead.

"Nope. Pesos.” Doyoung snorts, “we were so confused. It’s still a good memory. I swear that shit only happens when I’m with Yuta.”

Maybe this is why Doyoung is so fixated on the idea of Taeyong missing out on so much when he has Yuta to be compared to. But it isn’t a fair comparison, their histories and countries are too different, as are their expectations.

“Prince Yuta is far too handsome not be recognized internationally,” Taeyong comments, the motorcycle coming into view. He’s too much of a coward to ask all the things he wants to. About Yuta. About Doyoung _and_ Yuta. “He really should be more popular than I am.”

“Yuta is hot and he knows it, it’s terrible. But I don’t know hyung,” Doyoung says, “you’re _very_ handsome. You like set the bar across Asia.”

Taeyong lets out a high, nervous laugh and pushes Doyoung away. “Shut up. Don’t say stuff like that.”

“It’s true though. You are strikingly handsome.”

“Ah, you are more handsome.” Taeyong shoots back in panic. His face is flushed, his palms sweating.

Doyoung lifts a brow, intrigued. “Really?”

“Your eyes are so sharp, sexy. And your neck is long and elegant. And your shoulders are so manly and-”

“Hyung,” Doyoung says, batting his eyelashes. “I didn’t realize you felt this way. Oh my, my diary tonight will be getting filled!”

“Shut up!”

“Fine, let’s get you home, my prince. I can’t have you turning into a pumpkin or whatever.” Doyoung takes out the helmets and puts it on Taeyong’s head.

Under the close proximity, Taeyong freezes. He doesn’t dare breathe as Doyoung reaches out and carefully does up the buckle, his cool hands brushing against Taeyong’s neck. It’s such an intimate gesture. It terrifies him.

“Uh, thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Hop on, handsome.”

“Fuck off.”

This time, Taeyong keeps his eyes open as they race through the streets of Seoul. It’s not any less terrifying, and he continues to grip Doyoung like his life depends on it (it does) but he can at least appreciate the fun and adrenaline of the ride. Kind of. Almost.

When he climbs off the back of the motorcycle it’s almost eleven.

Doyoung takes his helmet off, running long elegant fingers through his hair in a gesture that’s so natural and so effortlessly attractive that it’s disorienting. “You’re a shitty passenger. I’m going to have bruised ribs, hyung.”

Taeyong means to thank him, for tonight. But he just stares and blushes awkwardly.

Doyoung stares back. And it’s a challenge.

Their eyes lock and Taeyong realizes how close he still is. He hasn’t stepped away from the bike and even in the dim lighting, he can see a patch of dark stubble on Doyoung’s right jaw he missed when shaving.

For a moment, Taeyong thinks they’re going to do something they’ll both regret. Or maybe fight. He really can’t tell, but the night air between them is thick with wicked energy and it's making his head spin.

But then the moment passes.

“Are you going to say something? Because the palace is that way.” Doyoung tells him, pointing down the road. “Or is there nothing in that pretty little head of yours?”

“Uh, yeah, thanks I guess,” Taeyong manages, taking a quick step back. He’s breathing heavy, his heart racing. He’s grasping for something familiar, something normal between them and coming up empty. This is foreign ground and terrifying. He doesn’t like what he’s feeling. “But also fuck you.”

Doyoung cocks a brow, surprised. “Hyung, we are married. I don’t think anyone would disapprove-”

“Don’t say shit like that,” Taeyong says quickly, face flushing. Something terrible twists in his stomach, and more frighteningly, below that too. “Goodnight.”

“Night, then, hyung,” Doyoung says, pulling his helmet back on and starting his bike back up. “Have sweet dreams of me.”

And before Taeyong can spit out a sharp retort, the engine is revving and taking off like a dart down the street.

He makes it back to his bedroom in a blur. All he can think about is Doyoung, everything else is just background noise. His body feels like it’s on fire, something deep has been set ablaze in his gut. But even more frighteningly, Taeyong thinks that maybe it’s always been there deep down.

Stripping out of his clothes, Taeyong steps into the shower hoping to scrub away the burn that Doyoung’s left with his touches.

He’s confused.

He hates this.

He hates Doyoung.

Doyoung is a dick. Doyoung is _blackmailing_ him. He’s a cocky bastard who gets everything he’s ever wanted. Taeyong will not be added to that list.

But it’s still Doyoung on his mind. It’s still Doyoung filling him with this rage, with this _burn_ when Taeyong reaches between his legs. It's Doyoung's face, his body, his words that drive Taeyong insane. It's Doyoung that he thinks about as he touches himself. It’s still Doyoung’s name he moans out when he reaches his peak.

Later, when he’s climbing into bed, Taeyong feels weird. He feels guilty and confused and a million other things he doesn't know how to describe. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him. Or how he got in this situation. He wants to talk to his sister, but he’s in too deep to go asking for her help. Or even Jaehyun, because talking to another guy about sex stuff would make more sense. But this isn’t sex stuff. This is _much_ worse.

Instead, Taeyong stares at the ceiling and wonders if it’s normal to hate your accidental husband but also feel aroused when you argue with him? And maybe feel something else, something unmentionable, the rest of the time?

Something is _very_ wrong with him.


	6. To quote monsta x: a lil jealousy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol this chapter got rewritten like 4 times and is still not what I want but meh
> 
> taeyong goes to this palace (my fav) [Changdeokgung](https://thereshegoesagain.org/changdeokgung-palace-secret-garden/)

In the morning he still feels weird about the whole thing but decides to put it all behind him. Or at least try to. Last night, despite everything else, went well. They didn’t fight. But now…Taeyong doesn’t know how he feels. He doesn’t want to think about it. Or what happened in the shower.

He gets ready for the day humming to himself, doing his makeup and hair. He puts on one of his favourite “work” outfit and heads down to breakfast, a smile on his face.

“Good morning,” he greets his sister who is sitting at the table and her son next to her. Despite being the heir to the throne, she has taken on the role of mother and leader together in stride. Taeyong doubts anyone else could have done it so well, but his sister was always one to prove critics wrong just because she could.

“You’re sure cheery this morning for only getting a few hours of sleep.”

Taeyong freezes, his coffee pausing halfway to his lips. “Oh...you know about that?”

His sister smirks. “Yes. And I just want to know why you think it is really worth spending people’s tax dollars on your security so you can sneak out to see Kim Doyoung? Surreptitious affairs don’t work when you’re a prince, Taeyong. They’re doomed from the start.”

“Stop being dramatic. We went for ice cream.” Then, “did security follow me?”

“Obviously.” His sister rolls her eyes. “That’s their job. They always know where we go.”

“Shit.”

“I can’t believe Kim Doyoung has a motorcycle. Very bad boy. Too bad he’s a nerd.”

A smile cracks across his face as he sips his coffee. “I know.”

“Everyone wants to focus on his looks and his risqué behaviour…but the boy is a nerd to his core. People who get a master’s degree are either too passionate about their research to get a real job, or want to move up the pay scale. And Doyoung is not short on cash. He just did it because he enjoys academic stuff. Peak nerdy behaviour.”

“You’re right.”

“Nerdy is the new sexy, you know, Yongie.”

“ _Noona_.”

It’s weird to hear Doyoung described this way. Normally when people are talking about Doyoung it’s about his looks or his politics or his semi-scandalous past. People don’t talk about Doyoung for who he is, only for what he’s done. Which, Taeyong realizes, does miss the whole nerd thing.

He decides to have coffee with milk and imported sweet syrup. He sips on it while checking his phone. He has a friendly message from his mother, who is still gone on her philanthropic tour, wishing him a good day. He sends a quick response, telling her he misses her and loves her.

Then, Doyoung texts him. And Taeyong knows he needs to act like everything is normal. Because things haven’t changed between them, not really. Slightly less overtly antagonistic maybe, but it really isn’t much. Doyoung will always be Doyoung.

**ENEMY NO1**

Good morning 😊

**HRH LTY**

Hi.

I really did enjoy myself last night.

Even if your driving and bike terrified me.

**ENEMY NO1**

I know you did 😊

We can do stuff wo u sneaking out u know tho

Maybe we can try that this week?

Food?

**HRH LTY**

I’ll have to check.

A tentative yes.

Taeyong doesn’t know why he agrees. He doesn’t know why Doyoung wants to hang out with him. It’s confusing. This whole thing is. He doesn’t know how seriously to take anything Doyoung does or says. Taeyong can never tell if he’s being genuine or just being a manipulative dick, using him as a means to an end.

Yet there’s still a part of him that wants to see the good in Doyoung. And going to all these events with him…it makes it easy. It’s easy because Doyoung _is_ a good person, he is caring and passionate and smart and handsome…and…he’s still blackmailing Taeyong.

**ENEMY NO1**

Ok. I look forward to it handsome😊

I can take you for another wild ride

Ur skinny arms are surprisingly strong lol

“Good morning, Your Highnesses,” Jaehyun greets them, entering the dining room. His hair is freshly blow-dried and bounces with each step, chestnut brown and impossibly shiny. “Are we ready for the daily gossip update?”

From her seat, Taeyong’s sister lifts her cup of tea in welcome. “Got anything juicy?”

“Only the latest on Kim Doyoung, of course. And _boy_ , is it good.”

Taeyong freezes, his gaze flickering to his sister. Is this about him and Doyoung sneaking out? Did someone spot them? Take their picture?

Pulling out a seat, Jaehyun sits down at the table. “ _President Wannabe Spotted at Private Club with Japanese Prince!_ Basically, Doyoung was caught drinking at some lush bar with Prince Yuta. And there’s a video of them dancing…. well grinding. Honestly, I’m not surprised but still. They’ve done similar stuff before. _Scandalous_.”

“ _What_?” Taeyong chokes out. “Let me see!”

Jaehyun lifts his phone plays the video and well...it’s exactly how he described. Doyoung and Yuta pressed close together, laughing and dancing in some poorly lit club. They look like they’re having a lot of fun.

“Oh, wow!” His sister nods impressed. “Prince Yuta is a good dancer.”

Suddenly, something terrible twists inside him, and Taeyong doesn’t know why. He feels slightly ill, like the milk of his coffee has curdled in his stomach.

Doyoung must have gone and met up with Yuta after he dropped Taeyong off last night. He hadn’t mentioned any other plans, and Taeyong, foolishly he now realizes, had assumed Doyoung was going back to his stupid bougie apartment in UN village. (He only knows the latter fact because Jaehyun read him an article about how Doyoung and his older brother, a small-time actor, had a shared flat there). He hadn’t said anything…but Doyoung had been on his phone. Maybe he’d been texting Yuta while with Taeyong.

It shouldn’t matter. None of this should affect Taeyong.

And yet.

“Why didn’t you go?” His sister asks, looking amused. “That would be an even better headline, no? _Two_ princes and the hot ROK presidential candidate having a boy’s night?”

Taeyong blinks. “What?”

“I mean, with proper security. It wouldn’t be the end of the world.”

He nods slowly, unable to find words. He feels numb but also like he’s been punched. He doesn’t know why he’s reacting like this. What Doyoung does shouldn’t matter. Doyoung is a grown man. If Doyoung wants to ruin his political career, he should be able to. None of this should matter. If anything, he should feel happy about the damage this will likely have on the polls.

But then why does this hurt so much? Because that’s what the feeling is. Hurt.

“Can you excuse me?” He says numbly, pushing his chair back. “I have a bit of a headache and am going to get some pain meds from my room.”

“Of course, I’ll come find you for the meetings later,” Jaehyun says, still looking at his phone. He’s smirking as he reads, oblivious to how the news he just delivered has had such an effect.

Coffee turning in his otherwise empty stomach, he heads back to his room. Taeyong feels foolish. He knows he’s being too sensitive. He’s overreacting. He’s doing exactly what Doyoung would admonish him for. He wishes he wasn’t like this. He hates being like this.

Maybe it hurts because he thought he and Doyoung were maybe becoming friends. That they could maybe share things with each other. Maybe it hurts because for a split-second last night, Taeyong thought they were going to kiss.

He realizes now how idiotic he was.

Doyoung doesn’t care about him. And never like _that_.

+

Ignoring the hurt, Taeyong throws himself into his work. The government is preparing for a change of presidency, and he offers himself as help anywhere possible. He trails behind his sister and their father to meetings. He offers advice to senior staff and spends more days watching his nephew (much to Jaehyun’s delight). He does everything to ignore Doyoung. But he’s _everywhere_. And he texts incessantly.

**ENEMY NO1**

Do you want to get pizza 2morrow? Ask Jaehyun what he likes

I hope ur having a good day…im surrounded by idiots

Hey

Hyung

My dear angel husband??

Are u busy??

Jaehyun says u were in a meeting earlier but r free now

Why are u ignoring me?

Are u mad at me?

Did I do smth wrong?

Pls reply ☹

baboooo ☹ur breaking my heart

Taeyong ignores all the texts. He doesn’t want to deal with Doyoung. He refuses to, for the sake of his mental health. What he does begin to secretly do though is listening to Doyoung's bands two albums. They're pure rock and roll and unfortunately, quite good. Listening to them may be a form of self-harm though.

Unfortunately, Taeyong’s sister notices something is up within two days.

They’re riding in a car back from a meeting at the Blue House. The current president had _many_ opinions on Kim Doyoung. Some of which were quite hilarious, but not wrong.

“Hey, Yongie, are you feeling okay?”

“Hmm? Yes, I’m fine.” He replies distractedly, scrolling through his phone. He’s reading all the messages from Doyoung, knowing he shouldn’t. He won’t respond, but Doyoung still hasn’t given up.

**ENEMY NO1**

I hope youre having a good day…..

Do u have to be a prince to get good looking security? Mine r just big

Jaehyun tho….damn

Lol im only half kidding

Babo stop ignoring me

Damn the poll results today lol…..23 day campaign period kicking my ass

The end is in sight tho

I wish u were to…… 😉

“Are you sure? You seem…distant.” His sister says, brows furrowing.

“I’m just tired, I guess.” He says with shrug. It isn’t a lie. He locks his phone. He doesn’t want to look at any more of the messages. “I could use some ice cream and some game time to myself.”

“I know, but it’s…. concerning. You normally don’t act like this.”

“Noona.”

“Is this about Doyoung?”

Taeyong throws her an overly annoyed glance. “No.”

She looks at him, her dark eyes intense and Taeyong instantly knows he’s been caught. His sister knows him too well. Finally, she tells him, “lies aren’t answers.”

A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “But they sound so much better than the truth.”

“I worry about you.”

“I know,” He says. “But you don’t have to. I don’t want to burden you. You have so much more important things to be focused on.”

His sister suddenly throws herself at him, wrapping him in a tight hug. “You are my baby brother; you are the most important. I will always worry about you because I love you, babo.”

Taeyong hugs her back, smiling into her hair. “Calling me a fool? Do you know who you sound like? Doyoung.”

They laugh at that together.

+

“You know that Doyoung is trying to contact you?” Jaehyun asks him as they share lunch after another long and dry meeting, this time with heads of the tourism sector. They want Taeyong to do an ad campaign in _fifteen_ different languages.

“Yes,” Taeyong says through a mouthful of pizza. “And?”

“Why are you ignoring him?”

“Does it matter?”

“ _Hyung_ ,” Jaehyun admonishes, “I thought you two were trying to be friends. What happened to that?”

Taeyong has been continuing to artfully ignore Doyoung’s texts all week. It’s doing great things for his sanity. But it doesn’t stop people from asking about the presidential wannabe or about their widely broadcasted publicity antics. The damage has been done and their names are so intertwined that Doyoung’s evil plans have surely succeeded.

He takes a sip of his iced coffee, then shrugs. “Doyoung is very busy, the election is ending soon. Only eight days left. Our schedules don’t align right now.”

The worry that has begun to permeate his thoughts lately is the possibility of Doyoung actually winning. What would that mean? Stuck in regular formal interaction for five years. They can't go back to ignoring each other. Things have changed between them, for better or worse. (Probably worse).

“You could at least text him back.”

Taeyong shrugs again, curling his lip in indifference. He picks up his slice of pizza again, the cheese dripping off it in long strings. “I just haven’t felt like it lately, I don’t know. It’s not that deep.”

Jaehyun lifts a brow, which is a strikingly attractive visual if he ignores the greasy on the corners of Jaehyun’s mouth

His best friend/handler/bodyguard really is a fine specimen of a man. The day-long crush he initially had when Jaehyun started working at the palace was well placed. His mannerisms and speech are so smooth, slick. This image was, of course, ruined when Taeyong first saw Jaehyun deliver a quick spartan kick to some overly aggressive fan, sending the man flying and breaking his sternum. He then proceeded to deliver a series of punches, and since, Taeyong has not been able to unsee Jaehyun’s lust for violence. It’s alarming because the rest of the time he’s such a nice amicable guy. Yet he is simply horny for violence. Taeyong swears Jaehyun is happiest on days where there are security issues.

“Stop ignoring Doyoung. He misses you.”

“He can suck my dick.”

Jaehyun smiles around his pizza, his dimples coming out. “He is quite progressive with his politics. He just might. You never know....”

“Shut up, Jae.”

Jaehyun just laughs and finishes his pizza, wiping the grease away with a napkin before turning his attention back to his phone. Catching up on the latest news, probably.

“Oh, there are idols coming to the meetings this afternoon. Nothing says come to the ROK quite like _come look at our pretty prince and beautiful talented idols_.”

Taeyong snorts. It isn’t wrong. “Anyone we like?”

“Your friend Seulgi…and your crush.”

“Which one?”

Jaehyun laughs again, shaking his head before turning his phone to show the list.

“Baekhyun!” His eyes widen. “Shit! Why did we have pizza for lunch? I swear to god if I begin to break out. This afternoon is going to be both heaven and hell.”

“Hyung, it’ll be fine. Act cool.”

“Jae, have you met me?”

+

On the ride back to Deoksugung palace, Taeyong is still beaming after a star-studded afternoon. He got to see Seulgi, got some of the latest idol gossip and a recommendation to this new clothing brand based out of Itaewon. They’ve never had a particularly close friendship, but more so have always found each other at events they mutually attend. They can trust each other not to leak things to the press or post things that would get the other in trouble. Plus, they do have the same taste in romantic movies. _And_ , he got to see Baekhyun.

"You wouldn’t guess who is trending.”

Taeyong leans onto Jaehyun, resting his chin on his shoulder and looks at the phone. “Already? Oh my god, that is a good picture of me. And Baekhyun looks so happy his arm around me. Finally, being a prince paid off for once.”

Jaehyun snorts, scrolling through the article. “I’m sure there must be other good parts, but yeah, it was cool meeting Baekhyun. He really is funny. Big personality. He knows how to work a room.”

Taeyong nods in agreement. “I think the minister was completely wrapped around his finger by the time we left. She was blushing the same shade of pink as Baekyun’s hair. But I guess he did agree to an entire tourism campaign for them.”

“I think he had _you_ wrapped around his finger by the time we left.” Jaehyun counters. “You were the one who kept asking for his opinion on things. It was kind of funny.”

Taeyong blushes through his pout. “Shut up, Jae.”

Pulling out his own phone, Taeyong finds even more messages from Doyoung. He sighs as he scrolls through them.

**ENEMY NO1**

Stop ignoring me :(

Baboyaaaa

Since when are you friends w idols

Is that a professional thing w Baekhyun or r u friends

U shouldn’t just let randos hug u?? ur the prince

Taeyong stop ignoring me and ill buy u ice cream

Pls

Also the media keeps calling Baekhyun a heartthrob??

Do i suddenly not exist????

What do u think?

Yongie :(

He narrows his eyes as he rereads the message. The fact Doyoung had seen the pictures already is kind of shocking, for someone as busy as Doyoung is. And…he seems jealous of Baekhyun? Do the two have some history Taeyong doesn’t know about? Some rivalry? Or does Doyoung just dislike Baekhyun because he is not being ignored by the prince.

The idea of Doyoung jealous is absurd. If anything, it’s kind of funny. Taeyong doesn’t know what possesses him, but he decides to finally respond. His curiosity is sparked.

**HRH LTY**

Baekhyun and I greatly respect each other!

He thinks I’m better looking than any of the idols he knows.

He is so funny too.

**ENEMY NO1**

Omg baboyaaa i missed you

Also what does Baekhyun know?? Like so what hes not blind?? Doesn’t make him special

I cant believe u ignored me for long wtf

**HRH LTY**

He is very special!

Have you heard him sing? :o

**ENEMY NO1**

Wtf

Havent YOU heard ME sing???

**HRH LTY**

I have.

**ENEMY NO1**

?????

Wtf does that mean babo

Don’t tell me you could possibly prefer him to me

**HRH LTY**

Got to go! Baekyun is calling😊

The last part is a lie, but Doyoung doesn’t know that.

“Are you watching monster porn again?” Jaehyun asks suspiciously. “Why are you grinning at your phone like that?”

“Shut up, that was one time,” Taeyong says through his grin. Doyoung is jealous. It is so absurd Taeyong doesn’t know what to do with this knowledge. It’s _hilarious_. Why on earth is Doyoung jealous of Taeyong’s friendships? Taeyong doesn’t even think he and Doyoung can consider them friends, not really.

And yet.

His phone starts going off again, with more messages from Doyoung.

Now seems like a good time to go back to ignoring him.

+

There is a secret garden at Changdeokgung Palace Complex. It is where Taeyong goes when he needs to steal a few minutes to himself, away from the constant eyes, away from the constant expectations that are intrinsically intertwined with his name and title. After an afternoon of discussing the changes to come with the election with his father, sister, and a number of members of the Nation Assembly, Taeyong trades his suit for a hoodie and heads there.

This may be the one way he abuses his princely powers. After the Changdeokgung Palace Complex closes for tourists for the day at five, Taeyong sometimes goes and visits with only Jaehyun and a few other security personnel. And of course, since he is the prince, they let him.

It is his favourite palace, of the five in Seoul. It lets him forget he’s at the centre of a metropolis. It lets him forget some of his problems for a bit.

When the palace was built in 1405 it was designed to work in harmony with the nature around it. The king at the time, Kim Taejong, maintained that the topography of the main palace was not good enough for him. No one believed him. Most believed he didn’t want to rule at the main palace because he had assassinated his brothers there.

Taeyong is sometimes glad he doesn’t have brothers.

The secret garden is not much of a secret, in reality. It has three main parts, and throughout all of it the natural beauty is highlighted with the bare minimal of artificial additions. Since it’s creation the garden has been used for more than relaxing, but for hosting banquets and even farming.

Taeyong’s favourite part is Gyeongbokgung, one of the last additions to the garden. It is a picturesque spot with pavilions around a curving pond with lush foliage encroaching on all sides. It’s beautiful and exactly the type of place the kings of earlier days would create.

It’s a dark evening, cloudy and threatening to rain. It makes the green of the garden that much more verdant and smells that much more like natural life. He sits in the pavilion, overlooking the pond. He has both of his knees pulled to his chest, his head resting against the red wooden pillar and looks out at the water.

Taeyong wishes princes could take a break. Other people, if they don’t like their jobs quit and get a new one. They go back to school, change fields. They move, they make new friends. They have agency in their life.

And it isn’t like he isn’t grateful to be a prince. He recognizes how incredibly special that his position in the world is and the privileges and honours that come with it. But it also means there’s a constant spotlight on him. If Taeyong fails, he isn’t just failing himself or his family (which is bad enough), he’s failing an entire country. He has to do well at all times and has to keep pushing himself to do better, to make the most of this gift the lottery of life has given him. He _knows_ this.

But some days, like today, he wishes he could just be like anyone else. He wishes he could have a break from it all. For just one person to treat him like _Taeyong_ , and not like His Royal Highness Prince Lee Taeyong of the Republic of Korea.

He knows he is wishing too much. He knows he’s always daydreaming impossible, romantic things. His sister thinks it’s a good quality, that his compassion and empathy and imagination are strengths he can use to help people and imagine a better world. Jaehyun thinks that if Taeyong wasn’t the prince he’d surely had had his heartbroken a dozen times by now. He thinks that Taeyong dreams up things are impossible and never going to happen, and he needs to remember that not everyone thinks and feels the same way.

Sometimes, Taeyong wishes he could fall in love. He desperately wishes he could find someone to understand the terrible ugly things inside himself, to make up for his shortcomings. He knows that he’s expected to marry someone who is _someone_. Someone who is respectable and educated and ready to step into the role of a political puppet for the ROK, following rules and making appearances and doing charity work.

It’s almost a secret blessing, his marriage to Doyoung. He can at least push back those pressures for a little while longer now. But not forever. And the secession he is willing to make for his family, for his country, by marrying a kind and beautiful woman….he knows will be tough. But he’s made peace with this reality.

Princes aren’t gay. Because that’s what he is. He’s always known, was really starting to realize what it meant that he wanted to kiss to boys and not girls right when he and Doyoung had the apotheosis fight that ended their friendship. Maybe that’s what made it worse.

He had no one to tell after losing his best friend. He had no one to confide in, no one to ask questions to, no one to tell his deepest worries to. He lost so much when he’d lost Doyoung, and maybe that’s why it still hurts.

Princes in the real world don’t get happy endings. They get working relationships and dark senses of humour shared with their close friends who are also security agents trained in the worst kind of violence.

Princes don’t get to fall in love. And _never_ with other men. And if they do, well, nothing can ever come of it. Feelings can be hidden. Feelings can fade if Taeyong is lucky.

Watching a leaf drift across the top of the dark blue of pond, Taeyong sighs.

He feels guilty. He feels like a failure. Perhaps the worst part is he doesn't know which he should be seeking forgiveness for: what he is, or what he is not? The man he became or the one he didn't? Should he apologize to his parents? His country? Is there much difference when you're a prince? Should he be seeking atonement for his failings?

“Hey! Baboya!”

The voice jars him from his thoughts.

Taeyong slowly uncurls from his position, turning to look behind him at the path, recognizing the voice instantly. “ _Doyoung_?”

“Why have you been ignoring me?” Doyoung demands, jogging down the path and into the pavilion. He’s in skinny jeans and leather jacket, looking far from the man that could potentially be the leader of their country in a few short days.

“Why are you here? How did you find me?

He assumes Jaehyun finally betrayed him. He kind of saw this coming.

Doyoung crosses the pavilion in a few quick long strides. “Why have you been ignoring me? Are you mad at me?”

Taeyong stands, crossing his arms across his chest. He’s mad that the sanctity of the secret garden has been ruined, his peace intruded on. “Does it matter?”

Doyoung brings his face right up to Taeyong’s, so close their noses are almost brushing and he can smell the clean laundry scent that always clings to the other man. Too close. “Why can you hang out with Seulgi and Baekhyun and not me? Do you think they’re so much better than me? That I’m not worth your time?”

“What are you even talking about?” He pauses. "Why don't you just go talk to Yuta? Isn't he your best friend?"

Doyoung glares at him, something really is wrong with Taeyong because he immediately thinks Doyoung is attractive, even when angry. Or maybe, especially. He’s really trying not to let that thought stick around. _Bad pathway. Cancel. Exit page._

“This has nothing to do with Yuta! You’ve been ignoring me!” Doyoung says, breath hot on Taeyong’s face. “How am I supposed to know what is wrong if you don’t tell me?”

“Nothing is wrong.”

Doyoung scoffs. “Jaehyun said you were acting weird. And you’ve been ignoring me. It’s been a _week_. I can’t read your mind to know about how every little thing I do registers.”

Taeyong thinks Doyoung is about to blame the silence on him being too sensitive, being mad about something that he shouldn’t be, but he doesn’t.

“I just didn’t feel like talking to you, okay?” Taeyong tells him. It seems obvious to him that he shouldn’t owe anything to the man that is _blackmailing_ him. “Is that such a big deal?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Doyoung counters, eyes ablaze. “The election is days away and _we_ have a deal. I have my last few public events, including the big electoral party on the eve of the election. I need you more than ever.”

The words hit Taeyong hard, and he wishes, like the fool he is, that they could be said under different circumstances. He _hates_ that he wishes that. “What if I don’t want to go to any more events with you?”

“Do you _want_ me to expose our little secret?”

“Fuck off, Kim Doyoung,” Taeyong says, pushing Doyoung’s chest, sending him staggering backwards across the pavilion. “I don’t owe you shit.”

“I _know_ that,” Doyoung says, pushing him back. “I know you’re obviously upset at something. I always know when you’re upset, don’t you get that?”

And the thing is, Taeyong does. Doyoung understands him, knows how to read him, helps him in little ways even when doesn’t need to. That’s why this whole thing is so confusing.

“You seem like the one who’s upset,” Taeyong counters, kicking at Doyoung as he steps closer. “You’re the one who came here looking for me. The one who’s shouting.”

Something snaps in Doyoung at that, and he gives up his path of inquiry for that of impulse. He swings a punch at Taeyong, which he quickly dodges, managing to kick Doyoung in the process.

“Bastard!” There’s no scream or cry of pain besides the devilish flicker in his eyes.

Taeyong thinks about stopping, about stepping away from the fighting but Doyoung is suddenly surging towards him before he has the chance.

Doyoung may be stronger than he is, but Taeyong is quick. He steps out of reach of another punch before throwing his own. It lands directly on Doyoung’s nose, sending him staggering backwards with a gasp, his hands coming up to face. Immediately, blood begins to gush out.

Taeyong doesn’t who is more shocked he actually landed a punch, let alone one that drew _blood_.

They stare at each other, mouths hanging open in shock.

“Oh my god, I am so sorry,” Taeyong instantly gasps, hands coming up to his own face. He steps closer, trying to get a better look. He pats his pockets, pulling out a handkerchief of the royal household and handing it over. “I can’t believe I did that.”

Doyoung is looking up at the roof of the pavilion, blinking back watery eyes as he takes the handkerchief, painting it crimson instantly. “What the _fuck_ , baboya.” Then he’s chuckles, looking at Taeyong, a tear falling from his right eye. “Who knew you had that in you. I’m kind of impressed. Mostly in pain. God, it stings.”

“Are you okay?” Taeyong asks, eyes widening as the blood continues to flow.

“Yeah,” Doyoung says, turning the handkerchief. “It doesn’t hurt much. You didn’t break anything, that much is clear. Just landed a decent hit.”

Taeyong bites his lip, shuffling from foot to foot. “You kind of deserved it though.”

That makes Doyoung laugh, and he takes a seat in the pavilion. “How so?”

“I mean, you are _blackmailing_ me. Your _husband_.”

Doyoung gives him a bloody smirk, and god, in the ever-encroaching darkness of the garden he looks like the kind of demon Taeyong dreams about. Again, there is something _wrong_ with him.

“I thought the fact that we’re married made it obligatory for you to forgive me for my faults?” Doyoung says, eyes finding Taeyong’s. “To have and hold from this day forward. For better or for worse.”

They stare at each other, and Taeyong searches his eyes, trying to figure out what game Doyoung is playing. He doesn’t like this. He doesn’t like what Doyoung is implying, speaking like their marriage isn’t some unfortunate accident that’s looming over both of their futures. And will be annulled soon.

After a long moment, Taeyong tears his gaze away and looks out at the pond. It’s getting darker, colder. They should leave soon. “Well, you thought wrong.” He says softly. Then, “how did you get here? Do you want me to arrange a ride for you home? You can’t go out in public like that. You look like a vampire that just ate its fill.”

“I came from a meeting nearby on foot. I can just get a cab or something, I guess.”

Taeyong shakes his head. “Don’t be ridiculous. You could be the president in a few short days. You can’t get into a random cab covered in blood and wearing leather. You look like something between sin incarnate and a cannibal. You can just get a ride with me.”

“Are you going back to Deoksugung?”

Taeyong nods.

“Can I come?”

“What?”

“You’ve been ignoring me. We never got to go out and eat together.” Doyoung says. “We could hang out.”

Taeyong stares at him, blinking in disbelief. Doyoung is nursing a bloody nose from them fighting and is trying to invite himself over to hangout. Princes _don’t_ hang out.

“What?”

Doyoung shrugs. “We could eat and watch a movie, I don’t know. Whatever you want.”

Taeyong blinks at him again.

“Or, you know, I could walk out onto the street and tell the nearest person to start recording me. I could tell them how the prince is not only my _husband_ but also a _dick_ who gives me bloody noses.”

Taeyong scowls, looking at the path through the garden. He's been backed into another corner by Kim Doyoung, and not even in a sexy way. “You’re evil. Fine, let’s go.”

+

Kim Doyoung is sitting on his bathroom counter, letting Taeyong wipe the blood from his face. His stupid handsome face.

"You fight better now than when we were kids. Back then you would just curl up into a ball and hide."

"From your tickling," Taeyong points out with a roll of his eyes.

“I bet Jaehyun is still laughing about earlier."

Taeyong chuckles, rinsing out the bloody cloth in his sink. “Jaehyun is just mad he missed the violence. I can’t believe he said he wasn’t concerned about keeping an eye on me if it was just _you_ going to talk to me.”

“He knows you love me.”

Taeyong raises a brow skeptically, wiping off the last of the blood. There’s no bruising. It really was just a punch that landed hard enough in the right place. No damage. “Sure.”

"Fine, look…I’m sorry,” Doyoung says, suddenly serious. He runs a hand through his dark hair, mussing it. When his eyes finally find Taeyong’s they’re wide and honest and far too vulnerable. “I’m sorry. For all of this. Even years ago. I’m sorry, okay?”

Taeyong blinks at him for a moment. He wasn’t expecting this. An apology. Not just for tonight, or the past few weeks, but for _everything_. He doesn't know what this means, not in the context of everything else. Something shifts in his chest. _Hope_ , maybe. Or something just as dangerous.

He takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry, too. For all of it. And I accept your apology.”

“Thank god,” Doyoung says, but his eyes say so much more. And it terrifies Taeyong, seeing all of this. This side of Doyoung is dangerous. It makes Taeyong feel things that will only end in tears.

Taeyong turns, heading back into his bedroom and he can hear as Doyoung hops off the bathroom counter and follows him. He doesn’t know what their plan is. He doesn’t know how to hang out with Doyoung. He hasn’t had someone other than family or security in his room in years. No one but Doyoung when they were kids. And it's weird having him back here. It's weird being together and trying to be civil. Trying to be friends, or something close enough.

“What do you want to do?” He asks, sitting on the edge of his bed. “The food will be here shortly.”

“And beer.”

“And beer.” Taeyong rolls his eyes. He still can’t believe Doyoung asked nice old Mrs. Choi to send over some beer with their supper.

“We can just watch a movie,” Doyoung says, flopping down in Taeyong’s bed like he owns it. Right at home. “I don’t care if it’s one of your cheesy dramas. You can choose.”

And that is how Taeyong ends up in his bed drunk, head on Doyoung’s shoulder as they watch The Princess Diaries.

“Yongie, Anne Hathaway just transformed into another princess outfit,” Doyoung says, pointing the screen, still holding onto his bottle. “Cheesy. Drink.”

“I hate this game,” Taeyong whines, taking another swig from his bottle. His face is hot, and he feels warm and tired. And comfy. So comfy. And _really_ drunk. He can hardly focus on the movie.

"It's almost over,” Doyoung says. “I think I win, though. Are you okay?”

“No,” Taeyong whines into Doyoung’s shoulder. He’s wearing one of Taeyong’s sweaters, but Doyoung's familiar smell pushes through. “I’m not good at drinking.”

Doyoung laughs, closing the laptop as the movie ends. “Really? Why didn’t you say something?” He pokes Taeyong’s cheek. “You didn’t have to play a drinking game. And clearly one that was going to result in a lot of drinking. That was a _cheesy_ movie, babo.”

“Hey, I like that movie.” Taeyong protests. “It’s cute. And funny. And she’s a princess like me.”

“You’re a prince, Yongie.”

“Same thing.”

Doyoung shifts in bed and Taeyong begins to whine an objection. He’s comfy. And tired. He doesn't want it disturbed. He forgot how much he likes cuddling. Doyoung was always open to showing affection when they were younger. He always was quick to find Taeyong and offer him a hug when things got overwhelming. Taeyong back then swore it was like his best friend had some six sense, always knowing when Taeyong needed him. 

“I’m going to get you some water and then tuck you in, okay?”

“I don’t want you to leave,” Taeyong says, yawning. And even drunk, he knows Doyoung is doing him a kindness. “You’re warm. And smell good. Clean.”

“You want me to stay?”

“Yes. Personal heater.” Taeyong nods, snuggling into Doyoung’s arm. “I can finally see the perks of having husbands. It only took me seventeen years to find out. Still not sure if costs outweigh the benefits though.”

Doyoung barks out a laugh and pats him on the head. “Okay, Yongie. But I am still going to go get you water. It will only take a minute.

Taeyong relents, falling into his pillows as he’s left alone in bed.

 _God_ , he is drunk. At least no one is seeing this but Doyoung. Evil, handsome Doyoung. Who is a nerd.

“Here,” Doyoung says, handing him a glass of water. Taeyong downs quickly then hands it back. He hadn’t realized he was so thirsty. “Are you sure you want me to stay?”

“Yes, nerd” Taeyong nods. “I’m cold.”

“Okay,” Doyoung says, giving him an amused look, returning to his spot in bed. “But don’t be mad at me tomorrow, okay?”

“Mhmmm.. probably will be. You’re so irritating.”

“Rude.”

“Come closer, I’m cold,” Taeyong says, reaching out for him. “I can’t wait for summer. Warm weather. Maybe I should ask my sister if we can take a vacation somewhere warm after the election. A beach would be nice.”

“It’s a shame we don’t have more domestic vacation spots,” Doyoung says, allowing himself to be pulled further into the bed. His face is flushed from the alcohol, but his voice is steady. It’s like he doesn’t even feel the effects. Taeyong cannot say the same thing. “Or else we could go on a mini-vacation together. It would be nice to get a chance to escape. Plus, the leaked photos would be amazing. Picture it, you and me in tiny shorts and nothing else. I can hear it now: do it for the gram, hyung.”

“Ha. Tiny shorts don’t leave much for the imagination. Maybe the lack of vacation spots is a good thing.”

Doyoung scoffs. “Oh, you _would_ say that. The entire reason there’s a lack of proper leisure options in this damn country is that the government sees tourism as a means to get foreigner’s money. _Not_ a part of the domestic economy or self-care for the people at all. It’s madness.”

“Have you really thought about all of this before?” Taeyong yawns. He is so warm now. Cozy. “You seem to always have an opinion on everything. You seem to always want to _change_ everything.”

“I just care about people. I want people to be happy and healthy.” Doyoung says with a heavy sigh, shifting. “I don’t know, Yongie. Maybe I care too much.”

Carefully, Taeyong turns to look at him. He watches Doyoung for a moment, unable to look away, entranced in trying to figure out what kind of person his childhood best friend has turned into. He still has all his insufferable traits, but he seems to have good intentions. It’s so confusing.

“I don’t think you can care too much about other people. Just as long as you’re not caring about what they say about you and letting that control you. There is no shame in kindness or compassion.”

The words hang heavy between them as they lie together, his head on Doyoung’s shoulder and their legs touching beneath the blankets. Taeyong has never shared his bed with anyone besides his sister or his nephew before – or _Doyoung_ , he realizes. Any of his terrible awkward hookups had been in bougie hotel rooms or palace bathrooms, and he’d never stayed the night. Mostly for security reasons, but also because he didn’t know if he could allow that level of vulnerability and intimacy. His sexual track record is almost as sad as his romantic one.

“This is like when we were kids,” Taeyong says finally. “Back before we hated each other’s guts.”

Doyoung laughs from low in his chest, grabbing one of the small throw pillows and doing just that – throwing it at Taeyong. It hits him and bounces to the floor.

“I missed you, you know,” Doyoung says quietly, laying back down. His chest rises and falls in a steady even rhythm in the borrowed shirt. “Over the years I would see something, and I never lost the instinct to tell you first. To wanted to show you before anyone else. To tell you whenever something big happened, good or bad.”

This confession stuns him, and a painful, stagnating silence falls between them. After a long moment, softly, Taeyong whispers, “I missed you, too.”

And he knows it’s not enough. He knows he should say more - that he should confess to his own moments of longing for Doyoung’s friendship. But he can’t. Not yet, at least. Not at this moment, when it seems like things between them are finally, maybe, okay. After all these years, they have somehow found themselves in this position where admitting any vulnerability seems like throwing the other a potential weapon to use in future battles. Taeyong wishes he could trust Doyoung more. He wishes he could trust himself more, allow himself to trust more.

Doyoung terrifies him, his complexities, his burning passion. But he especially terrifies Taeyong when curled up in bed like this. And Taeyong is drunk and quickly realizing his feelings terrify him even more.

He falls asleep quickly, drunk on more than the beer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what's your favourite korean palace (theres 5) mine is Changdeokgung! I'm a slut for a good gardens..... drop ur answer below and why
> 
> also lol I had dy getting jealous of seulgi originally and changed it to be....more ....accurate...lol


	7. desecrating a protected national historical site

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: bad smut :(
> 
> why is writing smut physically painful lol

**November 13, 2009**

“Yes, sir,” Taeyong bowed low to the Chinese ambassador. “Thank you, sir.”

The ambassador hummed in approval, before moving onto to Taeyong’s sister. The heir to the Crown was always more impressive, even if the Crown is only symbolic.

“ _Yongie_ ,” Doyoung whispered, coming up behind Taeyong, startling him enough he jumped.

“You scared me!”

Doyoung grinned, his shaggy hair falling in his eyes doing little to hide his amusement. Nor his ever-increasing handsomeness. “I know,” he said. Then, “want to sneak out to the hall?”

Taeyong glanced around the room. It was filled with royals and various delegates from across Asia. His father, mother, and sister though had drifted away, engaged in a discussion with the Chinese ambassador.

“I shouldn’t.”

“Come on,” Doyoung pleaded. “I want to tell you something.”

Taeyong looked around the hall again. No one would notice if he leaves for just a few minutes. It should be fine.

He nodded quickly.

Together, they weaved through the officials, none of them paying much mind to the Korean prince or his friend, too focused on their own business.

“Why do you always show so much more respect than needed to those ambassadors?” Doyoung asked once they were out in the hall. “They’re below you.”

“It’s called being polite, Doie,” Taeyong rolled his eyes. It was been apparent for the past few weeks that his best friend has started to go through a rebellious phase, questioning everything.

“Well, it’s boring,” Doyoung shrugged, running a hand through his hair.

It was an attractive gesture, one that Taeyong knew his best friend has purposely started doing after hearing from the girls at his private school that they like it when boys do it. A silly reason, in Taeyong’s opinion. But he could appreciate the results. Objectively, that is.

“You’re the _prince_. You can do what you want.”

Taeyong fidgeted, glancing back at the door to the main room. “You know I can’t. That’s not how it works.”

“Yes, it is,” Doyoung shot back, folding his arms across his chest. “You’re the prince. The rules don’t apply to you as they do to me. And if you weren’t so _boring_ and _scared_ , you’d be willing to break a few and let me tag along for the fun.”

Taeyong didn’t know if they’re fighting. They’d had this argument before. Despite being his best friend, Doyoung still couldn’t understand this.

“I can’t break the rules,” he said. “I can’t get in trouble. I can't shame everyone.”

Doyoung scoffed at this, putting on a show of being dramatic. “Hyungie, you’re so boring. The only person you’re shaming is me. Why can’t you just act like a normal boy for once and want to get into a little trouble?”

The words hit Taeyong harder than any punch Doyoung could have ever thrown.

It wasn’t his fault he couldn’t be _normal_ . He’s the prince! He was under pressures Doyoung could never truly understand, has worries Doyoung could never relate to. His best friend used to be so much more forgiving about these things. Taeyong _thought_ he did understand, but lately, Doyoung was nothing but pushy and borderline mean.

Everything was so confusing. Doyoung acting out. His sister wanting less to do with him as she turned from a girl to a woman and from a princess to the working heir. And his own body was being to betray him too, his balance being thrown off and clumsy like he never was before as he grew. And then there were the thoughts he'd recently realized weren't like that of other boys his age. He never knew what to say to Doyoung anymore when he was talking about the girls at school.

It was all so confusing and now his best friend was telling him he’s _ashamed_ of him. It set off something terrible inside of Taeyong. Something between anger and frustration and confusion. And _longing_ to be normal. To be like other boys.

“Fuck you, Kim Doyoung.”

Doyoung balked at him, eyes widening and mouth falling open. “Excuse me?”

“Fuck _you_ ,” Taeyong repeated. He hadn't ever sworn at his best friend before. He hardly swore in general. His hands shook at his sides, and tears threatened to well in his eyes. But he _wouldn’t_ cry. “You’re supposed to be my best friend. How dare you speak to me that way?”

“Why?” Doyoung demanded, fire blazing in his eyes. “Because you want me to treat you special because you’re the damn prince?”

It hurt because Doyoung didn’t understand. He was Taeyong’s _best friend_ , he was supposed to understand him best of all. He was supposed to be the one who has a little extra kindness, a little extra patience, he as supposed to have unconditional love. They’ve always been two contrasting pieces of the same puzzle, yin and yang balancing each other out. In the past, they’d always complemented each other, but now, it’s like Doyoung has changed and left him behind.

“No,” Taeyong said, voice cracking, “I want you to treat me like you’re supposed to! Like I’m your best friend!”

“I am! It’s not my fault you don’t want to do any of the things I want to do lately.”

Taeyong couldn’t help the tear that fell to his cheek. He was frustrated and angry and Doyoung just didn’t get it anymore. “I can’t! Do you not get that? I can’t be like other boys even if I wanted to!”

The truth in the words hurt him, even more, knowing that Doyoung didn’t understand the extent of what he meant. He wanted to tell Doyoung how confused he is about everything. His best friend was supposed to be with him trying to figure this stuff out as they grew up.

“Are you fucking crying?” Doyoung asked sharply. Meanly. “Why are you always so _sensitive_?”

“Why are you always so _sarcastic_?”

Doyoung stared at him for a long moment. “This is exactly what I mean. Maybe if you weren’t the prince you would get my sarcasm. Wouldn’t take things so seriously.”

Another tear fell to Taeyong’s cheek and he was quick to wipe them away, to hide any more weakness. “I don’t want to be friends with you if you’re going to act like this.”

Doyoung’s eyes widened and then he shrugged. “Fine.”

“Fine.”

And as the tears fell down Taeyong’s face as he stalked off, he wondered what he just did. He had never _not_ had Doyoung before. Doyoung was supposed to know him best, supposed to be the one to comfort him, to talk to.

Now he and Doyoung were no longer friends. And he never did find out what Doyoung had wanted to tell him.

+

**The present**

For a large part of the past, Korean homes were heated by an ondol hot stone system beneath the floors. This required a constant need for wood, and by the 1880s, much of the land was bare because of it.

Then, during the Japanese occupation, industrial logging was introduced to the country and decimated a large portion of the peninsula’s forest. In the 1960s the government under the widespread public support of Taeyong’s halmoni began to reforest their newly established south. It was a huge endeavour, but massively successful. By the end of the 20th-century cities had begun creating urban greening programs. And now, almost two-thirds of the country is covered in forest.

Tree planting has become a symbolic gesture done by politicians and royalty alike to show they care about their land. This is how Taeyong ends up in overalls and gloves in the countryside with Doyoung and a lot of photographers.

They start planting midafternoon. The two of them digging the first hole and putting a baby tree into it, cameras flashing the entire time. After the initial photos are done, the rest of the party moves and starts planting too, both Taeyong’s and Doyoung’s people.

It’s kind of nice, Taeyong thinks. He likes being outside on a sunny day, doing something he can actually see the results of. He likes doing things that he knows will have an effect, even if it just is cleaner air and maybe eventually, a restored ecosystem. Trees are so much more tangible than patriotism.

“You need to drink,” Doyoung tells them after they have two dozen trees planted. He holds out his half-empty water bottle to Taeyong.

“Oh,” he says, staring at the water for a second too long before taking it and downing its contents. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“Yongie,” Doyoung says, leaning on his shovel and pulling a lollipop out of his pocket. “I have this for you too.”

Taeyong stares at it suspiciously but eventually takes it, putting it in his own pocket for later the drive back to Seoul. By now, Doyoung has brought candy a few times, every time Taeyong is still cautious. He still can’t trust the other man, despite their apologies. Things don’t just go back to normal overnight, especially when they have yet to establish a normal for them as adults. “Thanks. Is it poisoned?”

Doyoung pouts, stepping on to his shovel and starting another hole. “Shut up. I bought it at a convenience store last night. I knew you’d appreciate it.”

“Aw, that’s cute.” Jaehyun snickers. He is standing to the side in his suit, hands crossed in front of him, pointedly _not_ part of the tree planting. “Why aren’t you two dating?”

“Because I’d destroy him,” Doyoung says, tossing a shovel full of dirt to the side.

“He’d probably be into that,” Jaehyun says, eyes flickering to Taeyong with a teasing sneer. Jaehyun knows too much as his bodyguard. He has seen things that can not be unseen.

Grabbing a sapling from the pile in the wheelbarrow, its roots wrapped, Taeyong gives them both a dirty look. “I’m literally right here, you guys.” He puts the little tree into the ground and then puts a few handfuls of dirt around it carefully, patting the soil until it's nice and even. “Besides, we’re literally married.”

Jaehyun lifts a brow. “Not anymore, though.”

 _Shit_.

“ _No_ ,” Taeyong says quickly, too quickly. His gaze flickers to Doyoung, who is leaning on his shovel again, a shit-eating grin on his face. “But like, we _were_. Which is more than dating. Worse.”

“I guess,” Jaehyun says. “But it still wasn’t like you two were together. A _shame_.”

“Shut up, Jae.”

“Be nicer,” Doyoung says, lifting his shovel and throwing its contents toward Taeyong. It hits his legs in a shower of dirt.

“Did you just toss _dirt_ at me?” Taeyong demands, gaping in disbelief. There are still people around them, not close enough to hear them, but anyone looking would have seen it. Everyone is supposed to think they’re friends. Taeyong isn’t sure they aren’t. And _yet_.

“Maybe. What are you going to do, _Your Highness_?”

Unfortunately, Taeyong is stuck somewhere between wanting to push Doyoung into one of the holes or kissing him. He can do neither, considering all the people around. And the fact that Doyoung would never think of him like _that_ . Taeyong can hardly accept that _he_ thinks about Doyoung like _that_.

He glares, gloved hands digging into the ball of soil and roots of the sapling he holds. “Nothing now. But later?”

Doyoung, rest his chin atop his hands on the end of the shovel smiles salaciously at him. “Is that a threat or a promise?”

“Both.”

“Good.”

Jaehyun clears his throat. “Can you two just finish planting? You can do your weird fight flirting later. With less press around.”

“We aren’t flirting!” Taeyong says, face heating. “We are...bickering.”

“It’s how we show we care about each other.”

“Didn’t the prince give you a bloody nose two days ago?”

“Yes,” Doyoung says, stepping on the back of his shovel, the muscles of his forearms flexing. Taeyong doesn’t know when Doyoung got so distracting. “What is your point?”

Jaehyun’s eyes flicker between the two of them before he sighs. “Whatever. It’s none of my business.”

+

For the second time in as many days, Doyoung goes back to the palace with him.

They haven’t acknowledged how they woke up with their legs intertwined, Doyoung curled around Taeyong, hot breath on the back of his neck. They haven’t said anything about how Doyoung had to use Taeyong’s shower, borrow a clean dress shirt then call for his ride to his campaign work for the day. They had just acted like it was normal for them to have a…. sleepover. Or whatever. Taeyong blames the beer _. For all of it._

Again, they call the kitchens and ask for some food to be sent over. Again, they eat in Taeyong’s room, away from the prying eyes of the staff and his family alike.

They talk about the day, the count down for the election, about Taeyong’s nephew. They talk about a million little things, laughing together until Taeyong can almost make his forgiveness of Doyoung a reality. Almost.

When they’re done, Taeyong leaves the empty dishes outside his bedroom door.

“So, Your Highness,” Doyoung says, coming up behind him as he shuts the door. “Are you going to do something now?”

Taeyong turns to him and blinks for a moment until he realizes that he’s referring to the comment he made earlier. He’d kind of forgotten about it, getting caught up in the rest of the press and events of the day. He shakes his head and tries to step around Doyoung, who is now blocking his way. “Fuck off.”

“Aw, don’t tell me you’re going to go back on your promise now, Yongie.” Doyoung says, stepping even closer. His dark eyes are dangerous like this, playful and demanding. He wants to see how far he can push without Taeyong breaking. In this way, nothing has changed. And Taeyong just doesn't get _why_ Doyoung is doing this.

“I’m a prince,” Taeyong says, holding his gaze. “I always keep my promises.” His face is already burning, his pulse racing. He’s terrified of what is going to happen, and even more so if nothing does.

Doyoung’s sharp dark eyes hold him in a challenge. The curve of his cupid bow is divine, and the gorgeous column of his neck shows as Doyoung swallows hard, his adam’s apple bobbing as he says, in a low voice, “you’re _my_ prince.”

The words set off something deep inside Taeyong and somehow, his pulse picks up even more. He can’t _stand_ Doyoung. “Do you always get what you want?”

The question clearly takes Doyoung off guard, confusion flickering in his eyes before he nods once, licking his lips. “If I want something, I work hard for it. Thus far I’ve been successful because of my dedication.” Then, “Why? Do you wish you could say the same?”

Taeyong narrows his eyes. He takes a step back, hurt. “Do you still not fucking get it? I wish I could! I wish I could do all the things you do. Or at least have the option!”

“But I’ll still never compare to you in the eyes of the public, no matter how hard I work,” Doyoung counters, stepping forward, closing the gap between them again until Taeyong can feel the heat of his body. “I’ll never be a prince, even if I’m married to one. And even if you were mine, _truly mine_ , you would still belong to everyone else too.”

A million thoughts rush through Taeyong’s mind. He doesn’t understand anything Doyoung just said. He just keeps hearing the words _if you were mine_ and everything else is a blurry feeling of longing and fear.

He’s stunned and confused and scared, so Taeyong does what he always does when overwhelmed by Doyoung. He pushes him and says, “fuck you!"

“Again?” Doyoung demands, stumbling backwards. He looks at Taeyong again, something dark and calculating shifting in his gaze. “Fine."

And before Taesyong can respond, Doyoung’s body collides into him, and he lets out a muffled yelp. Then, he’s being yanked sideways by the belt loops of his jeans, pressed against the wall.

“What are you doing?” He ducks as Doyoung swings an elbow at him. Reflexively, he raises crosses his arms in front of him, protecting his face.

“Isn’t this what you want?”

Taeyong slams his foot down on Doyoung’s, breaking his stance and he quickly steps back. He’s panting, confused and kind of aroused and not knowing what any of that means. “I don’t _know_ what I want.”

Doyoung turns and lunges at him.

Taeyong gasps, not expecting such a fast recovery. In his surprise he trips on his rug, falling backwards onto it, the breath getting knocked out of him as he lands hard.

Doyoung is suddenly atop of him, a knee on his chest pinning him to the floor. He reaches out and grabs Taeyong’s wrists, restraining them on either side beside his head. And he’s smirking, pleased to finally get one-up Taeyong, to have him pinned below him like this, helpless.

Taeyong fights the urge to struggle, knowing no good will come of it. Doyoung isn’t that much bigger than him, but he’s stronger and has Taeyong exactly where he wants him.

“Get off of me.”

“Hmm,” Doyoung says, lowering his face until their noses almost touch. “I don’t think I will. I kind of like you like this, my prince.”

Before he can allow himself to think about what that means or get _hard_ , Taeyong kicks his legs up, throwing Doyoung off balance. He rolls and rushes to his feet. His heart is pounding in his ears, hyperaware of all the lines of their relationship suddenly getting tangled. If they continue lines are going to get crossed, and Taeyong doesn’t know what that will mean.

Impossibly fast, Doyoung is on his feet too, his gaze locked on Taeyong. He says nothing, he just slowly begins to take long strides towards Taeyong until he is backed up against the edge of his bed.

“Do you need to be put in your fucking place?” Doyoung asks darkly, a hand suddenly reaching up and wrapping around Taeyong’s neck.

The light pressure is sudden and terrifying, and instantly, the dynamic of their fight changes even further. He isn’t squeezing, just holding Taeyong in his grasp, not letting him move.

The air between them is thick. They’re pressed so close together, hot and panting and Taeyong can feel his lips split into a sick smile. He _likes_ this. He _hates_ that he likes this.

“My place?” Taeyong repeats, and it comes out so much lower and breathier than he means it to. “I am your _prince_ . Need I remind you of _your_ place?”

“Is it not to serve?” Doyoung asks softly. The hand that isn’t wrapped around Taeyong’s neck comes up and strokes his cheek gently, running a finger down his cheekbone, across his jaw, tracing the shape of his lips. “Did you finally figure out what you want?” Doyoung whispers with a grin, pressing their bodies together.

Taeyong wants his heart to stop feeling like a stockade. He wants to run through the courts of the palace into the street without reprimand. He wants to take Doyoung's hand and explore the shops of the city until he finds a flavour of ice cream that tastes like the core of newborn stars. He wants to meet every terrifying angel with six wings and kiss them all, just to see how Doyoung reacts. Maybe he wants to climb mountain tops with Doyoung just to demand if this thing between them is inevitable and timeless. Will he always want Doyoung?

And Taeyong is _hard_.

Something flickers in Doyoung’s eyes as he leers down at him.

Taeyong is hard and Doyoung _knows_ it. He knows he’s the one who did it, has lit the fire of desire deep within his prince. And he isn’t pushing him away or condemning him for such desire.

Their eyes lock in understanding and Doyoung says, “Tell me to stop.”

Taeyong says nothing, but his dick stirs in his pants.

Then, without further wait, Doyoung grinds their hips together and slowly flexes his grip on Taeyong’s throat.

He gasps, lifting his chin up, stretching out more of his neck. He’s desperate for whatever Doyoung will do, whatever this thing is happening between them. He is terrified and it feels _good_ , because Doyoung looks like he’s sin incarnate and for once, Taeyong doesn’t want to fight it.

Doyoung lets out a soft laugh. “You always did enjoy pain.”

It’s as much of a compliment as he’s going to get. So, Taeyong smiles in a way that is sickenly pleasant and says, “pain doesn’t always have to hurt.”

Immediately, Doyoung shoots him a contemptuous look. “Is that so?” His eyebrows twitch upwards and Taeyong’s confidence falters slightly.

He’s no longer sure he hates Doyoung. Maybe he hasn’t hated Doyoung for a while now. Maybe he wants this. This challenge of Doyoung, this closeness of Doyoung. Maybe he wants to press their lips together and forget the rest. At least for tonight.

“Let me show you,” Taeyong breathes, then somehow gets the courage to capture Doyoung’s mouth in a kiss.

And Doyoung kisses him _back_. His hand drops from Taeyong’s neck to cup his face, guiding the kiss. He pushes Taeyong back onto the bed, climbs onto him, encasing him with his body while simultaneously slipping his tongue into Taeyong’s mouth.

And _oh_. Pressed into the bed like this, he can feel how hard Doyoung is too. And the realization makes him moan into Doyoung’s mouth and grind his hips up desperately.

They push and pull, kissing desperately, rolling across Taeyong’s bed, limbs intertwined and touches frantic and eager.

With Doyoung’s bottom lips between his teeth, Taeyong' realizes that perhaps this was always how things were always going to end up between them. This tension between them isn’t new. But it’s white-hot and driving Taeyong insane, burning up hot from the inside.

“You _hate_ me,” Taeyong gasps, sitting up in bed and grabbing Doyoung by his shirt collar, unsure if he’s ever going to be to let go. “You _want_ me.”

“You’re insufferable,” Doyoung says between desperate, dirty kisses with teeth. He grabs Taeyong’s hips and pulls him even closer until he’s fully straddling Doyoung’s lap. “You set something off in me that’s pure hot emotion and desire and I hate it and I won’t tolerate it for a second longer. I _need_ you.”

Then they’re kissing again, Doyoung’s hands on Taeyong’s ass, pushing him into him, their dicks grinding against each other through too many layers of clothes.

An, _oh_. Doyoung’s a greedy kisser. As the need courses hot through his veins, Taeyong realizes he doesn’t mind. He allows himself to get drunk on this forbidden fruit until their kisses slowly get messier and hungrier and completely and utterly graceless.

“Off,” Taeyong demands at some point, pushing at the stupid sexy yet nerdy cashmere sweater Doyoung is wearing. And off it goes. He groans in appreciation, drinking in every bare inch of Doyoung’s torso from the gentle slope of his broad shoulders to the soft curves of the muscle that jumps in his stomach when Taeyong presses a kiss there.

Together, they undo the buttons on Taeyong’s shirt, foolishly trying to kiss through it. They struggle until Doyoung decides to start peppering kisses down Taeyong’s jaw, then his neck, pulling a low moan and a shudder out of the prince. After that Doyoung just pulls apart the rest of the buttons, sending them scattering onto the floor and pulling his prince from the sleeves.

“ _My prince_ ,” Doyoung says into his skin, planting kisses along Taeyong’s collarbones, “ _you’re so beautiful_ ,” and across his chest, “ _a god_ ,” until Taeyong is pulling him back to his mouth, “ _all mine_ ,” desperate for more.

Fingers brush across Taeyong's nipple and he gasps into the kiss.

" _So sensitive_." And for once, it doesn't sound like a bad thing.

He wants everything about Doyoung, he wants all he can get. They kiss until they’re just two people making a terrible, epic mistake, titles and politics completely forgotten.

It’s Doyoung’s hand that reaches down between them. It’s Doyoung’s hand that cups Taeyong through his jeans. Palms him meaningfully . Then, it’s Doyoung who starts to undo both their buttons, pushing their pants down, boxers and all, until they’re both kicking them off the edge of the bed.

“Sit up,” Doyoung says, voice straining.

Taeyong does, atop and still straddling Doyoung’s thighs and leaning back on his palms for balance, panting. Naked, he watches with wide, lust blown eyes as Doyoung’s takes both of them into his hand. Long, elegant fingers wrap around Taeyong and he keens, letting out a low sound from deep in his belly.

“Is this okay?” Doyoung asks, moving his hand around both of them. It’s nothing like he’s ever felt, his dick pressed against Doyoung’s, hot and throbbing. Or Doyoung’s moving slowly and purposefully hand around them both.

“ _Yes_ ,” Taeyong nods quickly. “Yes, oh my god.”

Doyoung doesn’t stop the rhythm of his hand on them as he reaches with the other to grip onto Taeyong’s hips, hold him close. “Can I spit?”

The question doesn’t quite register, Taeyong’s mind only focused on the feeling of Doyoung below him and his aching dick. And _Doyoung’s dick_ . And his _thighs_. And his abs. And his gorgeous column of neck and his stupid, handsome face.

“What?”

“Your germ thing,” Doyoung says, thumb swiping across the heads of their dicks, sending Taeyong trembling and biting back a moan. “Can I spit and touch you? Is that okay?”

The thoughtfulness of the question makes Taeyong blink, trying to focus. He’s never had anyone ask him something like that before, never had sex with anyone who knew him well enough to ask or to care. Something tightens in his chest, and he realizes may this is what all his stupid romantic movies and books mean when they say making love is better than just sex?

“Or you can spit?”

He nods. Then he is gasping as Doyoung removes his hand, sending their dicks bouncing against each other and Taeyong’s stomach. Which is objectively hilarious, and he can’t help but let out a short laugh.

With his own smirk, Doyoung lifts his hand to Taeyong’s mouth. “Well?”

Mildly disgusted but too aroused to care, given the circumstance, Taeyong does.

Below him, Doyoung watches him, bottom lip between his teeth. His lips are still swollen and bruised from earlier, and the sight makes something like pride ripple through his chest. He did this. He has this power over Doyoung.

“That okay?”

Doyoung nods and Taeyong fears he’s going to draw blood from biting into his lip so hard. But then he’s touching them together again, and _oh_ , this is somehow _so_ much better.

It’s wetter and slicker and so much faster.

Doyoung has a magicked hand, teasing moans from his lips. Taeyong’s breathes come heavy, the muscles of his stomach jumping as the pleasure assaults his entire system. He’s moaning, then leaning forward, reaching for Doyoung, pulling him up to him, closer, desperate for their mouths to be connected.

Not slowing his hand, Doyoung sits up and kisses him hungrily. His other hand which rests on Taeyong’s hip pulls him even closer and in turn, Taeyong sinks his fingers into Doyoung’s shoulders.

“I think I’m going to die,” Taeyong moans against Doyoung’s mouth, grinding up into his hand. Against his dick _. It’s all too much_. Doyoung is too much. It feels too good, so impossibly good.

“I’m going to kill you,” Doyoung promises, and Taeyong can _feel_ the shit-eating grin on his face through the kiss. But his hand never stops, never slows. And he is quickly _ruining_ Taeyong.

Back arching, fire pooling low in his belly, Taeyong rasps, “ _yes, I think you are_ ”. Then shockwaves of pleasure erupt and he finishes, panting and collapsing onto Doyoung, clutching at his shoulders.

“Good?” Doyoung asks, hand slowing to a stop after another few moments.

“ _Yes…_ .I need...” Taeyong says, draped across Doyoung, panting into his stupid sexy neck. He is trying to find his words, still drunk on the pleasure. Everything is hot and fuzzy and _good_. “I need to. Be clean. Wipe it off.”

“Okay.”

Neither of them moves for another few seconds as Taeyong recovers. They just sit there, heavy breathes filling the silence.

Then, Doyoung slowly begins to remove Taeyong from his lap.

"What are you-"

"Let me take care of you."

He presses a quick kiss to Taeyong's lips, and slips into the bathroom.

Everything fuzzy and hot, Taeyong lies in his bed wondering what the _fuck_ he is doing and why the _fuck_ Doyoung is letting him do it.

Naked and still hard, Doyoung walks back into the room with a wet cloth. "Can I?"

Numbly, Taeyong nods.

Doyoung takes his time, carefully cleans Taeyong's skin. He moves his hands with purpose, with care, and it's _tender_. Taeyong tries not to think about this. What it means. He's so confused.

"There," Doyoung says after a minute. He sets the cloth down and then flops down on the bed next to Taeyong. Doyoung splays out in his bed, all long smooth limbs and gently curving muscle. He looks beautiful, he _is_ beautiful, and yet for some reason, he wants _Taeyong_. His dick standing still hard and proud says so.

“Sit on the edge of the bed,” Taeyong says, grabbing the cloth.

Doyoung throws him a confused glance but does so.

“Catch.”

He throws the damp cloth up in the air. It lands on Doyoung’s dick.

“ _Ah, baboya_ ,” he hisses, “that’s cold.”

“Wipe my cum off yourself and I’ll suck you off.”

Taeyong doesn’t know how those words come out of his own mouth, but the reaction they get is worth it.

Wide-eyed, Doyoung quickly does what he is told, not bothering to wonder where this side of the prince has come from.

Then Taeyong is falling to his knees, still drunk on his own pleasure and from a desire to please. And maybe because he’s always wanted to. He looks up at Doyoung with heavy lids, his mind still clouded by his peak.

And Doyoung is smiling down at him eagerly, taking himself in one hand and stroking a finger up Taeyong’s cheek with the other. “You have such a beautiful face. I've been dreaming about it between my legs for years, my prince .”

The confession is jarringly honest. And despite everything else, Taeyong still manages to jut his chin out defiantly, before he licks his lips and nods.

For the second time that night, Taeyong spits, but this time it’s in his own hand. He touches Doyoung properly for the first time, curious and desperate to make him feel good, to show him that his _prince_ can be the one to release the passion within him.

He wants to be Doyoung’s undoing.

He moves in gentle, teasing motions with his hand before leaning in and presses a kiss to the tip.

“Please,” Doyoung pleads, hands clutching at the bedsheets.

Without further hesitation, Taeyong takes him fully into his mouth. He doesn’t push himself, not right away. He bobs slowly on the head, his hand working the rest of the length, listening to the sounds he pulls out of Doyoung.

After a minute, he goes deeper. He pushes himself, takes as much as he can of Doyoung’s length until its pressing against the back of Taeyong’s throat, threatening to choke him. It’s then, with Doyoung hot and heavy and perfect in his mouth, his lips stretched red and swollen, Taeyong looks up and meets Doyoung’s eyes.

“ _Fuck_.” A hand reaches out and pushes Taeyong’s hair back carefully. Shockingly tender.

Taeyong pulls back a bit, breathes, then goes back to hollowing out his cheeks and sucking, bobbing his head. It’s wet and slick and messy, and from the sounds Doyoung is making, bloody fantastic.

“Keep going,” breathes Doyoung quietly, the way one might chant a prayer. A lust-filled, wanton prayer. “ _Keep going, keep going…_ ”

And who is Taeyong to disobey?

“ _Yongie_ ,” he moans, grabbing Taeyong’s hair. “ _I’m going to-”_

Quickly, Taeyong pulls off his dick, but keeps his hand moving, finishing Doyoung off and directing the cum away from himself as much as possible.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Doyoung groans, collapsing back onto the bed, arm slung over his face. His bare chest is flushed as it rapidly rises in falls. “Where the _fuck_ did you learn to give head like that?”

It pulls a giggle out of Taeyong and he shrugs. Porn. Jaehyun's advice. “Natural talent.”

After a moment he wipes off Doyoung’s legs and stomach.

“Come here.”

Immediately he is pulled to his feet then onto his bed. He’s being kissed once again. And it shocks Taeyong, his mind fuzzy and dick satiated. He doesn’t know why Doyoung is kissing him now when they’ve both came, and he’s cleaned up.

Taeyong still kisses him back, melting into how tender it is this time. It’s softer and Doyoung is holding him close with gentle touches like he might break. It makes Taeyong's chest ache because he wants this so badly. He wants the angel soft kisses and the reverent touches. He wishes this all wasn't washed in uncertainties, because he's sure he's already broken his fragile heart. You should never fall for someone who will never be brave enough to fall for you back.

But then, between kisses, Doyoung whispers, “I have feelings for you.”

And Taeyong’s breath catches in his throat at the confession.

“But I’m not telling you which ones.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was so fuckng hard to write lmao my outline has like a page of notes per chapter but this one was just:  
> -Story of fight  
> -Tree planting  
> -Hâte but not?? sex  
> -i have feelings for u. not telling u which ones.


	8. yuta spills tea and then angst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello i've been depressed/ wrote 3 exams this past week
> 
> tw angst, sexy yuta, also lame chapter sry lol

As a general princely rule, Taeyong doesn’t swear. It simply is bad manners. Doyoung is of course, as always, the exception.

“Why the fuck have you been ignoring my texts you goddamn son of a bitch?”

Doyoung, god bless his soul, grins at him. “Your Highness, need I remind you tomorrow is election day? I have been very busy.”

“We need to talk.” Taeyong whispers, glancing around them at the security and partygoers alike. This is the final hurrah before the election. Half party, half campaign climax, there are politicians, royalty, and press alike here. This is the last chance for televised speeches, backroom deals, and if Taeyong has anything to do with it, stolen kisses and bloody knuckles in dark corners.

“Your Highness, I am flattered but I’m needed right now,” Doyoung says, being dragged away by a flurry of officials. “Find me later, perhaps.”

Taeyong lets him go, frowning because it isn’t a lie. It doesn’t ease his annoyance though. “Bastard.”

He’s more confused than ever. He woke up two days ago with Doyoung pressing a kiss into his forehead and whispering something about needing to get to his campaign scheduling, leaving Taeyong with an empty spot in his bed. And since then, nothing. He wants to know what Doyoung wants from him. He wants answers. He wants to know if it was a one-time thing, pent up frustration or something else. Was it something more? Doyoung’s avoidance suggests that nothing has changed: their deal is still in place. Tomorrow they will annul their marriage like it never happened and maybe if Doyoung is lucky (and Taeyong unlucky), he will become the ROK’s next president.

He huffs out a confused pout, throwing a glance back at Jaehyun who stands a few paces away, amused. He knows something has happened. Taeyong hasn’t dared tell him that Doyoung spent the night with him. That Doyoung kissed him with lungs full of fire while touching him. Or that after, Doyoung had held him, pressing petal-soft kisses into Taeyong’s hair and humming until they fell asleep.

Taeyong doesn’t know what any of it means, or what exactly they are doing. But Doyoung ignoring him, and even if he is busy…hurts. It’s so very Doyoung to avoid confrontation about serious stuff like this. As kids Doyoung would do everything to stop Taeyong’s crying, never wanting to deal with it, just trying to make it stop. For bloody knees that’s okay, but as a grown man holding his heart out, Taeyong cannot stand it.

“Damn bastard,” He repeats shaking his head.

“Your Highness, that’s unkind,” Prince Yuta says with a sly smile, coming up behind him a flute of bubbling champagne in either hand. The other prince looks as strikingly handsome as ever, his long hair in a short braid accentuating his strong bold features. It doesn’t hurt that he’s wearing what looks to be a custom Yohji Yamamoto suit.

Automatically, Taeyong bows respectfully. “Your Highness.”

Yuta hands him one of the flutes of champagne, his crooked and irresistible smile remaining. There’s a number of silver hoops through his ears that catch in the light and in his right ear a singular dangling ruby drop earring. “Doyoung is too busy for princes tonight, apparently.”

Taeyong shifts on his feet, wrapping an arm around his middle and holding the champagne in the other. He and Yuta have never been friends. Yuta is _Doyoung’s_ friend. He is Doyoung’s adventure partner, his confidant. Maybe more.

“Are you here in an official capacity? Or to support a friend?”

“Both, I suppose,” Yuta says, taking a sip of his champagne. “What about you?”

Taeyong’s gaze flickers to the other prince. He doesn’t know how much Yuta knows about what he has been put through and what has…developed. Taeyong doesn’t even know. Doyoung avoiding him after them having sex doesn’t help. Or confessing…to something.

“I am the prince of the ROK, I have no choice but to be here.” He says. “Tonight is a great display of democracy and how far our country has come in the past century.”

Yuta hums, swirling his flute sending the golden bubbles dancing. He’s somehow almost finished it, clearly not encumbered by a low tolerance for alcohol. “Doyoung is happy you’re here. He may not show it but trust me.”

Taeyong arches a brow, glancing over where the presidential candidate is talking to a press woman in a pencil skirt on the other side of the room. The way she touches his arm and laughs, he can tell she’s flirting. Everyone flirts with Doyoung. It shouldn’t bother him. It does though.

Turning his gaze back to Yuta, he decides he might as well cast into the water to see just how much the other prince knows. “He’s been avoiding me.”

“You terrify him,” Yuta says, biting his lip. “I think he’s wanted this for so long that the possibility of having it scares the shit out of him.”

“What?”

Yuta downs the rest of his champagne in a quick easy motion. “He’s scared of losing.”

“The election?”

A waiter passes by and Yuta grabs another flute of champagne, his elegant ringed finger delicately wrapping around the crystal stem. Taeyong doesn’t know how the other prince can drink the stuff. A tolerance and taste built up over years of pretentious parties like this one probably. “Maybe,” Yuta says in a doubtful tone, “but I think he’s more scared of losing you.”

"What are you talking about?” Taeyong asks, brows knitting together. “He won’t even text me back or answer my calls. He…we…something happened. And he said something weird and now he won’t explain. He doesn’t seem scared of losing me. He doesn’t seem to care about me at all.”

“I think you are forgetting one fundamental thing about Doyoung. He is terrible with expressing his emotions and will avoid it at all costs,” Yuta says with a knowing sigh. “But this thing between you two…it’s not even something new. Just renewed.”

The question of what exactly Yuta knows is quickly becoming a pressing matter, as Taeyong’s cheeks begin to heat at the implications. He continues to steal glances across the room, to see who besides Jaehyun a short distance away might hear them. No one, it seems. Taeyong narrows his eyes at the other prince and asks in a low voice, “what do you mean by that?”

After another sip, Yuta shrugs. “Well, I have been listening to Kim Doyoung whine about _prince taeyongie_ for years. I swear it didn’t matter if we were in fucking Berlin or Rio de Janeiro. After a few drinks, it would always come back to you.”

Stunned at this new piece of information, Taeyong gapes at the other prince for a moment. “Since when?”

“Since _always_ ,” Yuta laments with a roll of his eyes. “It didn’t matter if we were clubbing in Ibiza or fine dining in Montréal. I swear it didn’t matter where we were, your fucking name was on his lips.”

“And saying what?” Taeyong demands, pulse-raising at an alarming rate.

“How he can’t stand your handsome face and gorgeous smile and oh how _dare_ you wear such a tight shirt to a charity fundraiser! How dare you be so cute _and_ handsome. How dare you be so smart, and yet still manage to smile and amicably handle stupid press interviews. And there’s a whole other weird thing about his focus on the way your veins in your hands and arms stick out,” Yuta waves a hand. “You can paint the rest of the picture. He's a suffering fool in love.”

“Do you mean to say Doyoung….likes me? _Romantically_?”

Yuta laughs. “Doyoung’s been _obsessed_ with you for years. In an almost concerning way, honestly. A very blurry line between hating your guts and wanting to rearrange them. Very blurry. Like a line in ink that I spilled an entire bottle of white wine on and now the ink has kind of dissipated. The line used to exist. Not sure if it does anymore.”

Tonight, Taeyong had expected to corner and demand a solid answer out of Doyoung, get this figured out before the election. What their relationship means has taken a drastic turn in the past week morphed and twisted years of feelings and emotions into some new, more dangerous creature. And now and the prince of Japan is telling him that Doyoung’s apparent…. feelings (Taeyong still is quickly realizing which type of feelings those are) …. are not _new_. Doyoung went into their arrangement feeling this way.

This changes everything.

“We are married, you know,” Taeyong says after a moment. He doesn’t know why he says it. Maybe because he’s been trying to force this simple fact out of his mind since he learned it nineteen days ago. Maybe because he wants to cherish this fact for the time it remains true. The hours are ticking by.

“I know,” says Yuta, titling his champagne towards Taeyong in an appreciative cheer. “Trust me, I fucking know. Doyoung since finding out has done nothing but refer to you as _my husband_.”

Despite himself, a small smile slowly creeps across Taeyong’s face. “That bastard.”

“Again, unkind,” Yuta chides him, but he’s smiling. “And what about you, Your Highness? Has Doyoung been a constant in your thoughts all these years?”

Jaehyun, stepping out of his role of professional into that of best friend, snickers from where he stands a few feet away. Taeyong glares at him.

The question has only one answer: yes.

"On each other’s minds, hated or loved…does it matter?” Yuta muses into his champagne, taking Jaehyun’s response as _yes_. “If hated, you’re always on the other’s mind. If loved, you have a home in their heart. You and Doyoung though, perhaps there’s been a bit of both.”

The words hit Taeyong like a slap. He’s known this. For a long time, he realizes. Hearing it though is something very different. He’s stunned to be to read like this, to hear Doyoung read like this.

“Things between Doyoung and I were never easy,” Taeyong says. “We’re too different. He’s as blunt as the back of a knife and I’m as sensitive as a butterfly wing.”

“Is that you calling yourself beautiful?” Yuta teases, then shrugs. “You’re empathetic. Caring is not a weakness, Your Highness. You are mindful. You want to do your best. You want to support others do to their best. I don’t think there is anything wrong with that. In fact, I think it’s one of the best things about you. That is why the people love you, not because of your looks. But because you aren’t afraid to love.”

Taeyong’s face heats at the kind words coming from someone who he cannot even properly call a friend. “Are you sure?”

“I am. And remember, Doyoung is scared of you. Don’t be scared to tell him how you feel.”

And suddenly, Taeyong realizes that what he feels is something real. And maybe he’s felt it for most of his life. The memory of wanting to talk to Doyoung before their big fight flickers in his mind, and as an adult, it’s so different. Maybe it wasn’t just that they were kids and Doyoung was going through a rebellious streak and Taeyong was feeling lost without his sister. Maybe it was something deeper. Feelings. Being scared and pushing someone away rather than facing feelings does seem like something Doyoung would do.

Then Jaehyun is tapping his shoulder, and his low voice is in his ear. “Your Highness, your father is requesting your presence.”

“Oh,” Taeyong says, trying to find his way back from his thoughts and tangle of memories. “Okay. Prince Yuta, it was nice to see you.”

“A delight to see you as well, Your Highness.” Yuta bows low. “I wish you the best. Together we shall eagerly await the results tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. Either Doyoung will be president or he won’t. Either way, things between them have been irrevocably changed.

+

The rest of the night goes by in a blur of political talk and so, so much press. Taeyong is almost sick of hearing Doyoung’s name if he’s being honest.

He manages to sneak off to the bathroom (with Jaehyun) for a moment alone to collect his thoughts. He checks his phone and there’s still no reply from Doyoung. He doesn’t know why he expected one. Tonight is Doyoung’s night. He doesn’t have time for Taeyong.

He steps out of the bathroom only to have his hand grabbed, and a familiar voice chuckling. “Your Highness.”

Taeyong turns to Doyoung, smiling wider than he intends. He knows it comes off eager, but he cannot help it. He’s been trying to reach the other man for days, and now, finally, he’s here. “Are you done your duties for the night?”

Doyoung shrugs his stupid broad shoulders. “The president’s duties never end, you should know, that my prince.”

“You’re not the president yet.”

“You’re right,” Doyoung grins, intertwining their fingers. Instantly, he remembers what Yuta said about Doyoung liked his veins. An odd thing to like. “Which means I should be able to sneak away with you for a few minutes.”

Taeyong quickly nods. He glances at Jaehyun, who is doing his best to pretend his prince and the probable president aren’t holding hands. “We can go outside?”

Jaehyun rolls his eyes but nods.

They’re in the heart of the city, in one of the massive modern government buildings. There’s nothing pretty outside but more city, and they sneak outside across the dark pavement and hope no one notices them.

“I’ll wait here,” Jaehyun tells them, standing by the door.

Taeyong nods, mouthing his thanks and walks with Doyoung a little further down. There’s no one around, and he hopes it stays that way. He _needs_ this.

“What did you want to talk about?” Doyoung asks like he hasn’t been blackmailing his prince to win the presidential election. Like he hasn’t been slowly reminding Taeyong why they were friends. Like they haven’t been physically fighting. He asks this simple question like last time they were together he wasn’t making Taeyong moan.

"What is _this_?"

"Just business," Doyoung says with a devilish smirk that Taeyong has the urge to smack off his handsome face. 

Instead, Taeyong sits on a ledge on the side of the building and decides to go for the kill. “Prince Yuta says I terrify you.”

Doyoung raises a brow, clearly not expecting this. “Do you believe him?”

“Surprisingly, yes.”

“Tell me why.”

Taeyong shrugs. “He’s your best friend, isn’t he? Why don’t you tell me why I scare you?”

“I just…always want you to be close. There’s always an urge to be pulling you closer, I don’t know,” Doyoung admits, running a hand through his hair. “And honestly? Every time we talk, I’m not sure if I’m pushing you away or pulling you closer.”

Taeyong huffs out a half-laugh. “I don’t either,” he says truthfully. “You’re too good at everything. I don’t compare.”

“Are we doing this again, my prince?”

“You scare me too,” Taeyong confesses in a small voice.

“How so?”

“Whatever this thing is between us, it’s made you a part of my life again. And you scare me because in these past few days I’ve quickly realized that I don’t think I want to live a day without you. Without our bickering. Without you checking on me. Without _you_. You scare me in a _holy shit how could I ever live without you_ kind of way.”

Doyoung sets his hand next to Taeyong’s on the railing. He licks his lips but keeps his eyes on their hands. “You scare me because you’re everything you want. You’re everything I need.”

These are the words Taeyong has been desperate to hear. This confirmation that there is something between them. Something _real_. “Are you ever going to kiss me?”

Doyoung turns to him, dark gaze locked on him, assessing. Finally, he slowly asks, “Is this you asking as the _prince_ , or as just Taeyong?”

He moves his hand from beside Taeyong’s, and the sudden absence is cold and jarring. Taeyong instantly misses it.

Then Doyoung is suddenly in front of him, encasing him, cornering him against the wall of the building. One of Doyoung‘s thumbs softly ghosts across Taeyong’s lips, almost reverently. The question hangs between them.

The breath is caught in his throat, and Taeyong is frozen, terrified and electrified all at once. All of this, being with Doyoung in a dark corner of the city, feels like both the worst thing Taeyong’s could ever do and also the best. And it’s so strange that the two are suddenly the same. But perhaps that’s how he’s always been, how things with Doyoung have always been.

“Do you remember when we first kissed?”

Taeyong blinks slowly, unable to look away, caught in the magnetic field that is Kim Doyoung. 

“Of course,” he breathes. “We had just said _I do_. We were just kids though; it didn’t mean anything.”

Doyoung laughs, and he’s so close Taeyong can feel the vibrations. He’s so close that Taeyong can see the scar beside Doyoung’s lip in perfect, imperfect detail. It’s not so unlike his own, besides his eye. A matching set.

“Ask me to kiss you again.”

Taeyong leans forward, presses their foreheads together. Doyoung’s breath has turned ragged, and for some reason, that satisfies him to his core. To know he has that effect on Doyoung, the ever composed and ever in control boy in the body of a man.

He can see every scar, every freckle, every streak of colour in Doyoung’s dark intelligent eyes. And it’s terrifying because Taeyong knows that Doyoung can see those things about him too.

“Kiss me.” Taeyong closes his eyes, breathes him in. Doyoung has always smelled the same, ever since they were kids. Like fresh clean laundry, soap and something frighteningly close to home. And Taeyong wants to savour this moment, breathe Doyoung in while he can because he knows that this thing between them is as fragile as butterfly wings or the hollow dream that this could truly happen. That this thing between them could last, isolated from the realities of the world outside. And it will disappear between them with the rising sun. “Please, just kiss me already.”

And Doyoung does.

It’s better than before, somehow. Taeyong’s pulse picks up as their lips meet, opening his mouth eagerly. Doyoung somehow knows how to pull the little sounds out of Taeyong just from that one experience.

When they pull apart, Doyoung sighs. “It’s a shame we’ll never be able to do this again after tonight.”

Taeyong, his breath still ragged and head spinning from their kiss, blinks. “What?”

“I mean tomorrow we annul our marriage. Tomorrow, hopefully, I’ll be the president.” Doyoung says, with an easy smile and as if he isn't breaking Taeyong's heart. “We can’t possibly keep doing this then. Even if it’s fun.”

Taeyong pushes him away. His stomach is twisting and he’s afraid the champagne from earlier might come up. “What the hell? I thought you just told me that you…that you care for me?”

“Yongie, I know you’re a romantic, but you need to be _realistic_.” Doyoung says, his smile dropping. He’s confused. He doesn’t understand why Taeyong is upset. Like usual. “You’re the _prince_. I’m a _politician_ and before that a popular figure in the media. We will never be nobodies, you know this. We can never be together, a sad truth.”

Taeyong grasps at the wall behind him, trying to steady himself. He’s so _stupid_. How could he have been so stupid? Doyoung will always be Doyoung. He always gets everything he wants. And he’s had Taeyong splayed out naked for him already. The next thing on his checklist is the presidency. 

“I thought you understood that?” Doyoung continues, in calm even voice that makes Taeyong want to scream. “I can’t possibly be a politician in the ROK and openly bisexual. I can never be both the president and your husband. That’s just how things are. You _know_ this.”

And Taeyong does know this. But hearing this doesn’t stop him from being hurt and confused. Earlier Doyoung said he wanted him, needed him. And now, he’s saying he’s accepted that they can never be together. Taeyong wishes he could say the same thing.

Instead, he bites into his lip and nods, reaching out and grabbing the back of Doyoung’s neck, pulling him closer once again. “For someone who says they need me, you’re not acting like someone who wants to keep me.”

“I’m sorry this is the way things have to be.”

It hurts more this way, knowing they both want each other but can never be together. It hurts knowing Doyoung has accepted this fate, has just been enjoying this short thing with Taeyong while it lasts. All the while Taeyong, being the romantic he is, has considered this thing between them as forever and always. It's a knife to the chest, and all he can do is nod and try not to stain Doyoung's shirt as he bleeds out.

With tears welling in his eyes, blurring his vision, Taeyong says for the final time: “Kiss me.”

And through his tears, Doyoung does.


	9. pretentious illusions to the classics and then drama

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooo guess who is done school
> 
> also me writing this: will i end my dotae fic or will it end me?

There’s a quote from the French filmmaker Catherine Breillat that Taeyong always goes back to: _“I am eternally, devastatingly romantic, and I thought people would see it because 'romantic' doesn't mean 'sugary.' It's dark and tormented — the furor of passion, the despair of an idealism that you can't attain.”_

He wonders if this is what Doyoung means when he calls him a romantic. It wouldn’t surprise him, not after these past few weeks. Doyoung knows him better than he knows himself in some ways. And yet Doyoung is the one okay breaking his heart.

Taeyong is heartbroken but doesn’t even know if he should be. He has always dreamed of falling in love, the passion of it - stolen ardent kisses in dark corners, midnight confessions of deepest desires and fears, early morning promises made still naked and tangled in bedsheets. But he’s also dreamed of the simplicity falling in love can bring – knowing which hand to always hold, having someone to tell all your secrets to, the surety of another person and their love if nothing else in life…..

He married his best friend seventeen years ago with these simple romantic ideals in mind, even if they had meant it to be platonic at the time. They had promised to always be with each other. But time and circumstance changed things. Changed things irrevocably. And now, Taeyong thinks he may have fallen in love in the whole sense of the term….and it doesn’t matter.

It doesn’t matter because above all things, Taeyong is the loyal prince of the ROK. He owes piety to his country and his family. He upholds all his duties and responsibilities. He will do what is required and expected of him, as always.

It’s not like Doyoung would have him now anyway.

Doyoung has had him, in the basest meaning of the term. And Taeyong can’t even bring himself to fully regret that night they spent together. It was good. It was _so fucking good_. But it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth now because Taeyong is just another checkmark on a sheet of things Doyoung wants, despite the things Yuta said.

What Doyoung wants he works his ambitious ass off to get. And he’s always succeeded. He’s always gotten everything he’s wanted. And now, he cannot have both Taeyong and the presidency. And Doyoung has never failed before.

Taeyong must accept this. He must smile like the prince he is and perform like nothing is wrong as the cameras are on him, his family, and Doyoung. He has been trained in diplomacy his whole life. He should be able to pull this off.

+

On the morning of the final campaign day, Taeyong feels sick. He can hardly look at his phone but does it anyway.

**ENEMY NO1**

We’ll sign the papers after my final speech

If that’s okay

**HRH LTY**

If that’s what you want.

**ENEMY NO1**

Taeyongie…

I’ll see you later ok?

**HRH LTY**

Okay.

The only thing Taeyong has to look forward to is the return of his mother from her trip. She arrives in time for breakfast and the entire family (and Jaehyun) unite in tight hugs and lipstick kisses to cheeks.

“Oh, my darling boy,” she says, pulling him close and kissing the top of his head. “I’ve missed you so much. We have much to catch up on.”

“We do,” he agrees, catching his sister’s eye. She knows something is wrong. Has she told their mother?

“I have a meeting with your father and sister this morning. Today is the final hurrah for the election. A busy day for all of us, especially your friend.” Especially for Doyoung. Of course, she knows they’ve reconnected. How could she not? “We’ll still squeeze in a moment together today, yes?”

Taeyong nods, smiling. He has missed his mother. “Yes.”

“Tea? For lunch? Jaehyun will make sure it happens, I’m sure.” She smiles fondly, and Jaehyun mirrors it. “Now, where is my favourite grandson?”

His nephew jumps into the queen’s arms and he too is covered in kisses.

Taking a step back, Taeyong watches his family feeling disconnected. They are happy. They all balance their roles of royalty and that of politicians, parents, partners, so well. They make it look easy. He knows they all struggle, his sister often frustrated trying to be a good princess, daughter, mother, wife.

Taeyong wishes things could be easy for him. Things would be easier if he could be happy marrying a nice girl, having children, following under his father’s and eventually his sister’s rule. Again, he finds himself wondering if he ought to seek forgiveness for what he is or what he has failed to become?

A stray thought crosses his mind. He pictures Doyoung here. With his family, having breakfast, being kissed by the queen. It isn’t hard to imagine. Doyoung and the queen get along famously, even after Taeyong and he fell out. They still chatted at formal events. When Doyoung announced he was running for the presidency Taeyong had felt sick whereas his mother had given some hopeful comment on the young man’s intellect and good character. Doyoung would fit in fine. He’d talk politics with his father, reform with his sister, make academic commentary with his mother, and gossip with Jaehyun. And probably sneak the young prince some candy.

“We’re heading downtown after this,” Jaehyun says, bringing Taeyong back to the moment. “I’m sure we can arrange security to clear a tearoom or private sitting room at one of the government buildings for you two to chat.”

“Okay. Thanks, Jae.”

“You should…talk to her.” Jaehyun presses. “About everything. I don’t just mean Doyoung. But yes, him. But I think if you want her to be more understanding about that situation you should be honest with her about everything else. Annulling your marriage means that it’s time you wed some nice girl.”

Jaehyun. His closest friend. Jaehyun, who knows so many of his secrets. Jaehyun who knows what is expected of Taeyong even before he does.

“Perhaps that would be for the best,” Taeyong laments into his coffee. "Do you think I could convince Seulgi to marry me?"

“Don’t say that,” Jaehyun says with a frown. “You ought to tell the queen the truth. She’s your mother. She will love you no matter what.”

Taeyong knows this is true. His mother is alarmingly progressive with her politics, which is another reason she and Doyoung get along. But a gay son is a whole other matter.

“We’ll see what happens.”

“Hyung.”

+

“You look tired, dear,” His mother greets him when he sits across from her at secluded tearoom Jaehyun arranged. “Have you been working too much?”

Taeyong pours tea for both of them, searching for his words. “We’ve all been focused on the election,” he manages. “I’ve been working no harder than anyone else.”

His mother nods, picking up her tea. She takes a deep inhale, appreciating it. “Your sister worries about you, you know.”

Shit.

“Yes, I know,” Taeyong sighs. He offers a small smile. He knows this. He’s known this since he was old enough to properly understand what love was. “You know how she is. She is a born ruler. Born to care for people.”

“You’re a born leader, too,” his mother tells him earnestly. “Don’t forget that.”

Taeyong blinks, taken aback at this sudden declaration. He’s never considered himself a leader, that’s his sister. Sure, he does his part in trying to take care of people, doing his duties but that’s different. But maybe it’s not. “You think so?”

“I’m your mother _and_ the queen. I _know_ so.”

A smile creeps across Taeyong’s face and he realizes how much he has missed his mother. Asian mothers are notoriously biased towards their sons, and well, his mother is not the exception. And normally he’d chide her about this for his sister’s sake, but sometimes he needs this little bit of extra love. No one loves him as his mother does. No one believes in him as she does. Unconditionally.

“You know who else is a leader?” She continues with an approving nod, “your friend Kim Doyoung. I’m glad you two are friends again. It’s been too long. I knew you would come around, though. What you two have is special. Connections like that may fade but the string of fate is never severed.”

Taeyong swallows the lump in his throat. He knew that Doyoung would surely be brought up. Today is the final day of the campaign. By tonight they will have a new president. The polls suggest it will be Doyoung and his party. It’s all over the media. It’s on the lips of all the royal officials and government workers that fill his days. He still feels ill-prepared. He thinks of what Jaehyun, who waits by the door, suggested.

“Did you really?” He asks.

She sips her tea, eyes closing in approval. It’s her custom blend, surely. Things are done in a certain way for the queen. “Since you were children you two have been such polar forces. It was always interesting to watch, still is now, if I’m being honest.”

“You don’t think we’re milk and lemon juice?”

The queen chuckles, raising an eyebrow. “Oh, sometimes, yes. But you two are better together, for each other and everyone else. Remember my son, strength lies in differences, not in similarities. And you two are united in the things that matter. You both like caring for others, are passionate about creating new, better things.”

Taeyong knows what she says is true. He wishes it wasn’t. It hurts knowing that they are good for each other, balance each other out, meant to be. And yet, they cannot be.

“You spoke of fate earlier,” he ventures, adjusting his grip on his cup of tea. He doesn't dare say the word _marriage_. “Is that what you thought of when you heard the news of what …Doyoung’s political team discovered?”

He hasn’t heard his mother’s take on that event, though he’s sure she was informed. His father probably called her in a huff, angry and disappointed. Taeyong had tried to refrain from thinking about it. His anxieties around it were bad enough.

“Yes, I think fate played a role in that,” she nods. “I can’t say I was too surprised if I’m being honest. I always thought you two would end up together.”

Taeyong chokes on his tea. It burns as it shoots up his nose, and he coughs in a very unprincely manner, grabbing a cloth napkin to wipe his face. “Excuse me?”

His mother shrugs. “I mean, maybe I didn’t picture things quite like that. But a mother sometimes knows things. We sense things.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying it’s a shame you two annulled your marriage so Doyoung could run in this election. I’m saying that you two have always adored each other in a special way. I’m saying I’m glad you two are friends again.”

Taeyong feels lightheaded. He glances across the room to the door, where his mother’s security stands with Jaehyun. He desperately tries to catch Jaehyun’s eye, seeking backup of any kind. He doesn’t know how to proceed in this situation. He needs reinforcement.

Jaehyun is looking at his phone.

“Eomma, I want to tell you something.”

“Yes?”

“I’m in love with Doyoung.”

“I know, sweetie.”

Taeyong blinks, processing. “You do?”

“Again, I’m your mother and the queen. Of course, I know.” She tells him, setting down her cup of tea. “Which is why I said it’s a shame things are the way they are.”

His mind is whirling, struggling to understand. “I’m gay, Eomma. I don’t want to marry some nice girl, even though I know that’s what you and everyone else want me to do. I’m sorry.”

“I won’t make you marry anyone,” she tells him, gesturing for him to pour more tea. Taeyong stares for a moment, before quickly reaching for the teapot. “But I understand that you do feel a duty and obligation to do so.”

“Eomma, Doyoung and I didn’t annul our marriage yet,” Taeyong confesses, hands shaking as he sets down the teapot. He looks at her with wide pleading eyes. He wants to finally get this off his chest, it’s been hard holding this in for nearly a month. “He made me support his campaign with the threat of exposing the marriage and ruining my image and bringing shame. But spending time with him reminded me of how much I missed him. And I love him.” He pauses, “at least I think I do.”

His mother’s uniformly waxed brows raise in surprise. “Well, I missed a lot while away on my trip. I’m sure we don’t have enough time to go into the details.”

Taeyong shakes his head. “No, we don’t.” He’s not even sure if he wants to do that his mother. He would have to do some extensive censoring.

“But I assume you two are going forward with the annulment in the very near future?” She presses.

“Tonight.”

“A shame.” She sighs. “I really do adore Doyoung, always have. He would make an excellent son-in-law.”

“You’re not mad?” Taeyong asks.

“I understand why Doyoung did what he did, even if it was wrong,” she says. “I suppose we ought to report what he has done, ethically. To show we do not condone such behaviour.”

“Eomma, no.”

“I understand the choice Doyoung has made. Your marriage is a fluke of privilege and history and trying to present such a union as legitimate to the public would require an extensive feat of political prowess and a definite political shift. It is much easier to move past it and for Doyoung to pursue his dream of the presidency instead.” She says. “Not that _you’re_ not worth it, Yongie. It’s just Doyoung is being a realist about the situation.”

Taeyong sighs. “I know. I understand.”

Suddenly his mother reaches out and takes his hand across the table. “Oh, my darling boy, just because you understand and accept something doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.”

“I know, Eomma.”

+

The press has filled the government building downtown where the final campaign speeches are being made. There are more cameras and microphones than Taeyong has ever seen in such concentration.

The night starts with the king making a speech, followed by the current president, then the candidates begin. There are a few, though Doyoung only really has one for competition.

There is a short break from other officials before the candidates, and Taeyong takes this chance to sneak to a private room and steal some snacks. There are chocolate covered pretzels that he cannot ignore.

Jaehyun follows him and steals a pretzel for himself. He looks as slick as usual, his hair combed back and dressed in a sharp suit. He’s on high alert tonight, constantly listening on his earpiece on updates on the security front. He still manages to offer his opinion on Taeyong’s melancholic mood.

“This whole thing between you and Doyoung is nothing short of a tragedy of epic proportions,” Jaehyun comments, as blunt as ever. “In the star-crossed lovers’ kind of way. It also doesn’t hurt that you’re a prince.”

Shoving a handful of pretzels into his mouth, Taeyong frowns. “What do you mean?”

Jaehyun lifts a brow somewhat cynically. “It’s tragic, how much he loves you. And do not tell me you don’t care for him; I know you too well.” He says, shaking his head. “Your misadventured piteous overthrows, do bury all but your _own_ strife. People would weep if they knew the truth about you two – now, or a hundred years from now.”

“Spilled tears can’t change the fact that we can’t be together,” Taeyong says softly, swallowing. He grabs a bottle of water. “I don’t get to be like everyone else. I’m the prince which ironically means I don’t get a happy ending.”

“A tragedy,” Jaehyun repeats, “because if you two can’t make it, no one will.”

Taeyong sighs, glancing around as if Doyoung will appear. “Yeah, well, there’s a difference between someone who wants you and someone who willing to do what is necessary to keep you. And Doyoung has made his bed.”

“Tragic,” Jaehyun repeats. “Shall we return to our seats and ready ourselves for his final speech? I’m sure he will enchant and inspire us all.”

Numbly, Taeyong nods.

Before they can though, they run into Doyoung at the edge of the stage. He looks as sharp and handsome as ever, an impossibly attractive figure in his tailored suit.

“Your Highness,” he says, reaching out and resting his hands on both of Taeyong’s arms. His touch set Taeyong's skin ablaze. “I’ve been looking for you.”

Taeyong lifts a brow. “You’ve been looking for me? Aren’t you supposed to be getting ready for your speech? I’m sure your political minions are looking for you.”

“Yongie, _please_ ,” Doyoung says softly, his dark eyes serious.

He swallows, throwing a glance to Jaehyun, who is watching with an amused smile. “What is it?”

“Do you love me?” Doyoung asks. “I need you to be honest. Please.”

Taeyong’s heart begins to race, trapped by Doyoung’s gaze and in his physical hold. “What?”

“Please, my angel, we don’t have much time.”

The term of endearment catches Taeyong off guard. _Angel_. Taeyong doesn’t think he’s an angel, but perhaps Jaehyun and the gods would find it ironic. He is just a boy in love in tragic proportions. The story of a boy with wings that burned and fell to his doom is nothing new. Taeyong has always wanted to fall. He wanted to touch the sun. 

“Yes,” he whispers. “I love you.”

Something flickers in Doyoung’s eyes and he nods. “Okay.” He says softly. “I love you, too.”

“You do?”

“Yes. Which is why I need to do this. You understand right? You love me, please understand that I need to do this.”

He means to make his speech. He means annul their marriage. He means to win the presidency. He means to complete the final chapter in their tragic love story and for them both to start anew.

“Yes,” Taeyong replies, stomach twisting into a knot. “I do.”

“Mister Kim, you’re being called for,” Jaehyun says, gesturing towards a frantic looking woman from his campaign team.

With a flicker of a smile, Doyoung nods and leaves them.

Taeyong and Jaehyun find their seats to the side of the stage with the rest of the royal family. His parents, his sister, her husband, and his nephew are all present and looking as regal as ever. He sits down numbly.

Doyoung loves him.

Doyoung _loves_ him.

And Doyoung has made his choice. He cannot this once have it all. He loves Taeyong and has to let him go. Doyoung cannot win.

Despite everything else, this makes Taeyong want to laugh. It would be terribly inappropriate though, so he doesn’t. Because Doyoung loves him, and Doyoung cannot both have him and the presidency. For once, Doyoung cannot have it all. This pleases Taeyong on some sick, base level. Even if it breaks his heart.

Then the cameras are on, and they are live. The speeches begin, with Doyoung scheduled to go last. It’s a bunch of political bullshit, fanciful words and vague promises. It’s nothing new, just the same things they’ve all been listening to for the past twenty-three days of the campaign period.

Finally, Doyoung is called for. The room erupts in cheers and applause. He is the crowd favourite. The election is practically won already.

Watching Doyoung approach the podium for the final time, Taeyong’s chest aches. He realizes, he really does love Doyoung because he is happy for him. He is happy for having this chance to reconnect. He is happy to watch Doyoung be happy and succeed in the pursuit of his dream job. He wants what is best for Doyoung, even if that isn’t him.

He wishes in some alternative universe that they could keep whatever this thing is between them. But he’s the prince. And Doyoung is probably going to be the president for the next five years. And everyone else, they would never understand.

“Good evening all,” Doyoung begins with his signature charming smile. It shoots an arrow through Taeyong’s heart. “I am honoured once again to be given this privilege to address our great nation, in the context of seeking to represent you as your president.”

There is wild applause.

“The role of the president is a relatively new one, in the vast history of our country. There have only been eleven thus far, though each greater than their predecessor in moving our country forward in the goal of democracy.” Doyoung pauses, making eye contact with various cameras. He is surely winning over voters. “I have always had the great need to demand justice, to seek improvement, and to pursue the betterment of not only myself but the world around me. For these reasons amongst a myriad of others, I sought to become your president.”

Taeyong frowns. _Sought_. Doyoung must have slipped-up on his words, misread his speech.

But Doyoung does not waver. He smiles, continuing. “The role of the president is to lead our country. To guide the people. To do the work _of_ the people. It is to represent the public and serve their needs, as well as provide a face in times of hardship.”

On feedback screens, the cameras cut to shots of the crowd where military officers nod in approval. Then back to Doyoung, dark hair slicked back from his handsome face and his wide shoulders filling out his navy-blue suit.

“Before running in this election, I thought that the presidency was the epitome of what leadership is for our country. I thought that serving as such would be my best chance of becoming the leader that I want to be and to do the work I believe needs to be done to improve our country and secure better lives for each of you.” Doyoung pauses, eyes flickering shut for a moment. “However, my mind has been changed.”

Confusion rips through the crowd.

Taeyong catches a glimpse of himself on the feedback screen from the cameras, and he too looks confused, his dark brows furrowed together.

“I have learned that there are many great leaders in our country who do not hold the title of president. I have learned that they are great players in the game of creating change and bettering our country. I have seen firsthand that there are leaders who work relentlessly hard to ensure all of you are cared for and appreciated.”

Taeyong bites his lips as understanding washes over him. Doyoung is talking about _him_.

“It has made me question my role in seeking the presidency, and if the sacrifices it requires from me are worth the high costs.” Doyoung continues, his voice ringing clear and confident. He has everyone on the edge of their seats, has captured the ear of every citizen of the ROK. “I have found myself in exceptional circumstances that I hope you all can be patient and understanding of. Primarily, I have fallen in love.”

Taeyong fears he may faint.

The crowd calls out in a mass of confusion. Every camera is locked on Doyoung.

His eyes widen as he stares at Doyoung behind the podium. He’s no longer smiling but is looking somewhat abashed. He is trying desperately to cling to his esteemed role of politician, but his knuckles are white as he grips the podium.

“I’m afraid I cannot go into detail about these exceptional circumstances, but they have left me with the realization that I can be a leader and still be true to my heart. However, I cannot be true to my heart and your president. With that being said, I must withdraw my candidacy.”

The crowd is in an uproar now.

Taeyong’s heart is pounding loud in his ears, disbelief running through his veins.

Doyoung smiles once again for the camera, and it’s his winning smile. He will never win the election now, but he has still won the country’s hearts. They may forgive him for this because of this adoration and love. “Some may think I’m a fool for giving this opportunity up. A fool for falling in love. But when it’s real, you can’t walk away.” Doyoung says, directing his smile at Taeyong.

And _oh_. That is enough. That is enough to mend any broken heart. Taeyong forgives him for every wrong because of this one smile.

“I apologize for disappointing anyone and humbly seek forgiveness from those who had thought to see me as their future president. Please accept my apology with the knowledge I hope to still seek to be a leader and work tirelessly for the good of our country.” Doyoung concludes. He then steps away from the podium and lowers himself to the ground, bowing most humbly and formally.

The cameras flash.

Doyoung has done the unimaginable. He has done the one thing Taeyong never even considered a possibility. Doyoung has given up his dream to be with Taeyong. Doyoung for once will not have it all. And Doyoung is choosing _him_.

Taeyong’s sister is suddenly grabbing his arm, getting his attention. Her eyes reflect his own, wide and in shock. “Did you know?”

“No,” he says honestly. “I had no idea.”

Doyoung is still on the ground, still seeking forgiveness. Officials are running across the stage, trying to reclaim focus for tonight’s events amongst the chaos.

Instinctively, Taeyong stands. He doesn’t make the choice. He just goes to Doyoung, like he’s always been meant to do. He referred to himself as fragile butterfly wings to Prince Yuta, but now he realizes that he is, in fact, a moth. And Doyoung is the light.

He pulls Doyoung to his feet and wraps his arms around him. He hugs Doyoung like if he ever let’s go, he risks losing him again. And Taeyong is never losing Doyoung again, not after all this mess.

Breathing in the familiar scent of home, he whispers, “Doie, how could you?”

And with tears sparkling in his eyes, Doyoung replies, “how could I not?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol kassy read this and was like "how kpop relationships are dramatic when it's like 'we've been dating for 5 years' try WEVE BEEN MARRIED OUR ENTIRE LIVES" and also "Like what are they gonna say?? Boo gays? THATS OUR LEADER RIGHT THERE SHOULDVE BEEN OUR GAY PRESIDENT 2020 THAT SHIT BETTER BE TRENDING ON TWT"


	10. soulmates??????????happy endings??????????

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow we finally made it to the end?????????? this clownery can finally come to a close
> 
> also of course thank you to kassy who literally corrected all my grammar
> 
> there are two passages of lyrics in this chapter from:  
> Hala – More Than Anything  
> Ollie MN – Please Never Fall in Love Again
> 
> cw: bad smut, me pretending politics r easy and homophobes r becoming extinct like they should be

Pressed against the door of Taeyong’s bedroom, Doyoung kisses him with shocking tenderness.

One gentle hand caressing the nape of Taeyong’s neck, the other cupping his jaw, Doyoung’s lips are curled into a careless grin. Doyoung kisses like he’s done nothing else to show his love. He kisses like he hasn’t been chasing him their whole lives, looking after him, making sacrifices. He kisses like he’s trying to prove his love through this gesture alone, making Taeyong melt against him.

If Taeyong wasn’t already so in love he’d be a goner.

When they break apart between kisses, Taeyong can’t help but chastise. “Stop smiling. You just gave up your dream.”

“I didn’t,” Doyoung says, lips ghosting across Taeyong’s. “I always dreamt of being with you. I always dreamt of being able to protect others and help people. I never dreamed of being the president.”

Taeyong sighs, his hands wandering beneath his husband’s shirt. “Still. You worked so hard for it; you were sure to win. How can you do this? Give it all up? It seems wrong.”

“Can choices made in the name of love ever be truly wrong?”

“And you were being honest?” Taeyong asks, fingers trailing across the top of Doyoung’s trousers. He never wants to let go, never wants to break apart from his husband, his lover. He is selfish and accepts that. “You love me?”

“Yes. And I’ll never compare to you. In a million years I could not do enough to ever deserve you.” Doyoung says. “But I love you. I love you so much it terrifies me, and I realized that I couldn’t give you up and be happy. I couldn’t annul our marriage and still ask you to be mine. Being president wasn’t guaranteed and would only last five years. And Yongie, I want you forever.” 

If they weren’t already married, Taeyong would jump Doyoung’s bones and lock him down.

Kissing the tip of Taeyong’s nose, Doyoung says, “You did what I never could’ve never done. Confessing your love for me was the sword I needed for the Gordian knot I’d found myself entangled in.”

Taeyong chokes out a laugh, pushing at Doyoung’s chest. “You’re so pretentious. We get it you have your masters.”

“You want me to be honest?” Doyoung nuzzles at Taeyong’s jaw, soft lips leaving a fiery trail of desire across the skin.

Breath hitching and face flushing at his husband’s tender action, Taeyong manages to nod. “Yes.”

Lips pressed against Taeyong’s neck, Doyoung drops his voice to something soft as velvet. “The presidency is only five years. It’s not worth it. I’ve already been your husband for seventeen and I plan on staying married to you for the rest of our lives.”

Taeyong’s breath catches in his throat.

“And I talked to your mother and sister,” Doyoung chuckles. “By which I mean they had me basically kidnapped by the KCIA and brought to a dark room where they told me that I had a few options and breaking your heart wasn’t one of them.”

“What?” Taeyong pushes Doyoung back, looking at him with wide horrified eyes. “They did _what_?”

Doyoung grins sheepishly, reaching out and tucking a stray hair behind Taeyong’s ear. “A bit of a hyperbole. But they gave me a reality check that I previously accused _you_ of needing. And I’m sorry about that. It really didn’t take much for them to reframe the situation and make me realize that an annulment and the presidency wasn’t what I wanted. Not really.”

The weight of what his husband is saying is not lost to Taeyong. He is sure that his mother and sister, despite the titles in front of their names, could not have changed Doyoung’s mind if it had been set in stone. Doyoung is entirely too stubborn, pragmatic, professional and ultimately too caring. If he changed his position on their marriage, it was his own accord. For him, staying together must have always been an option, despite claims otherwise.

“Not your dream?”

“My dream is helping people. And what I want is you.” Doyoung confesses. “Forever, if you’ll have me.”

At a loss for words, Taeyong leans forward and kisses his husband like he’s, in turn, trying to convince Doyoung he’s in love. Because he is. He is so in love. Doyoung has always been his person, and always will be. His sharp intellect and polished manners, his caring and playful heart. He is everything Taeyong wants, what Taeyong needs.

After a moment, Taeyong breaks the kiss, leaving his husband chasing for more. “Being a prince consort is almost better than the president if you want something long term in ways of positions of power and prestige.” He muses aloud. “But that wouldn’t be enough. Not for you. What else aren’t you telling me?”

Doyoung smiles contritely, and god, he really could win the whole country with that smile. “Backroom deals of politics, you know how things are.”

“Doyoungie!”

“What did you expect!” Doyoung laughs, making Taeyong fall even deeper in love. “It’s not bad! I just made it so I can take a more active role in politics rather than a public figure. I don’t get to put my name on any of the bills or the like, but I get to go to all conferences and have arranged for regular private meetings to discuss things with several elected officials. People like me, and I can be awfully persuasive. It won’t take much for my ideas to be considered theirs and for others to present proposals aligning with my goals. Besides, it’s all for a good cause. And I get to go around on your arm looking cute.”

Taeyong gapes at him. “You….you really had a plan, huh. No impulsive romantic decisions? You knew what you were doing?”

“I definitely don’t know what the fuck I’m doing, but I know that I want to be with you. We’ll figure it out.” Doyoung looks at him for a hard moment, his thumb gently stroking Taeyong’s jaw. “I’m homesick every moment I’m not with you.”

Cheeks flushing, Taeyong bites his lip. “Now who’s the romantic?”

“Still you,” he grins. “It’s just…maybe the very fibre of our beings was created together in the big bang. Maybe all the little parts of us have been searching for each other since.” Doyoung says, grabbing Taeyong’s hand and intertwining their fingers. “Perhaps we really didn’t have a choice in all of this, that on a molecular level we were always meant to find each other and come back together. We couldn’t fight it, no matter how hard we tried.”

Taeyong grins at his husband in adoration. “You’re so cute when you try to pretend you didn’t study liberal arts.”

“Shut up.”

“You love me.”

“I do.” Taeyong agrees, something stirring deep in his chest. “Till the very end, you’re my best friend.”

“Prove it.”

Face flushed in a deep blush, Taeyong grins at his husband. “Gladly.”

He pulls Doyoung to his bed, running on pure instinct and desire, their noses brushing as they hold each, falling into the sheets. This time when Taeyong’s breath ghosts over Doyoung’s lips and finally connects, they’re both smiling into it. They both want this. They both get their happy ending and Taeyong still cannot believe it.

Doyoung peppers kisses onto Taeyong’s nose, his lips, his adam’s apple. He looks up at Taeyong with his dark eyes, holding him captive as he kisses down Taeyog’s solar plexus, his stomach, and then the stretch of skin above the waistband.

“Please,” Taeyong’s breath hitches. So much is left unsaid, packed into that single word.

Doyoung smirks at him, his eyes so dark they’re almost back. “Ah, such good manners. You know I’d do anything for you, dear husband. I love you.”

And Taeyong swears he couldn’t love Doyoung more than he does at this moment. And yet, he is sure tomorrow he will, and the day after that even more. It terrifies him, how strongly he feels. But he wouldn’t trade it for the world.

+

Within the next few weeks, they settle into a new routine.

And much to his amusement, Taeyong discovers that almost every night Doyoung writes in his diary.

“Here’s some tea, love,” Taeyong says, taking the cup from the tray and setting it down next to his husband in their bed. Carefully, he pours the tea, steam swirling in the air between them and releasing the gentle scent of camomile. “It should help you sleep.”

Glancing up from his writing, Doyoung smiles at him. “You’re an angel, Yongie. Thank you.” Then he leans up and presses a quick kiss to his husband’s cheek.

Beaming and content, Taeyong takes a seat on the edge of their bed. “What do you even write about?”

“ _You_. My day, our nephew. Thoughts on the latest news. Ideas about the future, lamentations of the past.” Doyoung sighs softly and confesses, “a poor attempt at poetry tonight.”

“Really? Can I read it?”

Doyoung rolls his eyes, closing his diary. “I said it’s a poor attempt. Definitely not worthy of your viewing, I’m afraid.”

“You used to write lyrics for your band, and everyone heard those!” Taeyong pouts, his eyes widening and bottom lip coming out. “I’m your _husband_.”

“I know,” Doyoung says, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to the tip of Taeyong’s nose. “And I trust you. However, I think I’d die of embarrassment if I had to sit here and watch you read through my writing. I’ve had this diary for months and there is a row of completed notebooks over there on the shelf. I think you would be quite entertained by their contents.”

“Now you’re teasing me.”

“How about this,” Doyoung says, putting his diary on the bedside table. He reaches for Taeyong, putting his arms around him and pulling him onto his lap until there is a knee on either side of his hips. Taeyong wraps his arms around Doyoung, still trying to pout despite the tender affection. “You can read it one day when I’m not around, okay? I trust you enough to share this with you.”

“Really?”

“As long as you promise not to tease me with what you find.”

Taeyong lifts a brow. “What do you mean?”

“Yongie,” he groans. “It’s _embarrassing_. I’ve been writing in this one since before we got together. I swear it’s mostly me complaining about old crusty politicians and rants about how much I love you. Like soliloquies on your eyes and your laugh and how you made me want to jump your bones every time we fought.”

“That’s adorable.”

“Shut up.” Doyoung licks his lips, eyes dark and locked on him. “I’m not good at expressing my emotions. You’re so much better at it than I am. It’s like you’re the one always saying sweet heartfelt things and I always struggle to muster up something that’s half as good. Part of it is that you always shock me. You overwhelm me with your mind and your heart and your fundamental goodness, every time.”

“Shut up.” Taeyong’s cheeks flush at the praise, but he knows his husband is right about his struggle with expressing emotions. Doyoung likes to present himself as a rational, thinking mind. It isn’t that he doesn’t feel as deeply as anyone else, it’s just when it comes to finding his words to express how he feels, he often comes up short. He makes up for it with his actions.

“I’m serious.”

“But are you sure?” Taeyong asks. “You’re really willing to do that? That’s like putting your whole heart in my hands.”

“You won’t drop it. I trust you.”

“ _Doyoungie_ ,” he whines, leaning into his husband. He presses a kiss into his neck. God, he loves this neck. “You’re too good for me.”

+

**February 14**

I just woke and crept on the royal family’s Twitter account.

My prince looks cute. Unsurprising. I can’t stand him.

Ugh, I keep having these stupid fantasies where things could be different. Spending Valentine’s day together, going out to some restaurant, holding hands and walking along the river, falling into bed together.

I’m probably going to get drunk later and call Yuta and go into further detail. It’s all rather sad, especially considering Yuta has an actual girlfriend now (?????????).

**February 20**

What if I actually get to be president. God, there is so much to do. I mean, I want to do it all. I want to be a leader, I want to help people.

But if I’m the president I’ll have to interact regularly with the king and the rest of the royal family. How will I manage being around my prince, yearning for him while he gives me polite smiles and scornful eyes? Yuta, of course, thinks it will be hilarious.

**February 21**

Oh my god, what a busy day.

Also, I keep thinking about the whole me as president vs prince LTY thing. I imagine it being like this:

Me: Good evening, your highness.

HRH LTY: Good evening.

Me: You are the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen and I want to kiss every inch of skin and make you pancakes in the morning and kiss your forehead after tucking our kids into bed you are amazing, funny and kind and so so lovely inside and out and I’m sorry you hate my guts and I always make you cry I love you

HRH LTY, with his big sexy brows drawn together in concern: Security!

**February 29**

It being a leap year would make it a romantic time to get married. Your true anniversary would only come once every four years. You could say you’ve been married for such a short time, I guess. But having it only once every four years would be so romantic.

I wonder if Taeyong has considered this. He is the biggest romantic. It’s probably the only foolish part he’s managed to cling to in his strict royal upbringing. I adore him for it. Maybe because I’m not romantic enough. At least, not in the same way he is. I saw in an interview for White Day how he has this elaborate imagined perfect date that’s so cheesy and unrealistic. It’s terrible and wonderful.

I wish I could make him happy. Maybe if things were different.

Tomorrow I have another political party meeting and god I am so tired of dancing the careful line between being a leader of the party and respecting those older than me, it makes everything so complicated. I am the leader, and yet I owe deference and also need to show that I am strong and respectful but also not one to cross. This is why we’ve never had younger leaders. But if anyone can manage this, it’ll be me. I’ll make my mark.

**March 20**

Wow, did you ever think you were fucked about something, but it turns out you were REALLY fucked but in a different way?

That doesn’t make sense.

Fuck.

So, apparently _Taeyong and I are married????????????????????????????????????????_

Since 2003???????????????????????????

My legal team found out and brought it to me in the most scared way as if expecting a big reaction. I took it calmly. Then went to the bathroom to scream.

MARRIED TO THE LOVE OF MY LIFE????????????? WHO HATES ME?????????? AND IS THE PRINCE?????????????????????????

Honestly, this is some real fairytale BS. Part of me is just screaming in disbelief. Another part of me is sad because it reminds me there was once a time when Taeyong loved me back and wanted to spend the rest of his life with me. Things have changed so much.

Another part of me is a mix of anger and excitement. Because I’m technically a prince consort (??) I am illegible to run for the presidency. Fuck.

Which means I have to go tell Taeyong and get him to annul our marriage. Fuck.

My team has tried not to make a huge deal of it (I think the same-sex marriage thing is a little shocking, its legality for royalty even more so). We have a meeting at the palace tomorrow. I’m trying to prepare myself for seeing my prince. God, why is this happening?

I am going to go call Yuta and then listen to my emo ballad playlist in the shower. 

**March 23**

Prince Taeyong!!!!!

**March 25**

Oh my god…………… I want Taeyong to punch me in the face……..sue me……

The charity ball went well. My prince and I fought in the bathroom (he asked me to follow him there…..I was secretly hoping for us to make-out but whatever), a lot of sexual tension. Jaehyun thinks we’re already fucking, I can tell.

Part of it is I literally cannot stop teasing my prince and the other part is that being around Taeyong reminds me how much I am in love with him. He’s different now, more grown-up, but he’s still Taeyong. He’s still the same boy I’ve been in love with for most of my life.

God, I wish things could be different.

**March 26**

Meetings are so boring if I’m not the one talking omg

**March 30**

If I wasn’t too scared to admit how I feel with any seriousness, I could start charging my prince rent for how much time he spends in my head. I swear despite everything else going on, even the election campaign, all I can really think about is Taeyong.

I keep thinking about that night we went out for ice cream and to watch the bridge lights. It was so special. I hadn’t meant for it to be, not really. I wanted to show Taeyong a romantic spot yes, but I hadn’t meant it that way. Not really.

I think things shifted that night. For a moment I thought he was going to kiss me. I think he likes me, but maybe that’s just wishful thinking.

God, I wish he had.

I wish I’d had the guts to kiss him instead of falling back on teasing and nagging him like always. 

I’ve had this simple slow tune in my head all day, humming it between speeches and shaking hands. And there’s a poem, lyrics, I’ve been trying out. I don’t think I’ve ever been particularly good at lyrics, it was more of a whole band activity, I’ll write down what I have. They’re about Taeyong, of course. My prince.

_Could've been one lonely night_

_Just like the others_

_But you lit up my life_

_This is what it's like to be lovers_

_You and me need never be lonely again_

_Spin with me endlessly or at least until the end_

_Please never fall in love again_

_Oh, please never fall in love again_

_And if some other guy_

_Catches your eye_

_Please, just text me your goodbye_

_You know I don't look pretty when I cry_

_And I don't want that to be your final glimpse of me, baby_

_But if you could please return my DVD's maybe_

_Please never fall in love again_

_Oh, please never fall in love again_

If I don’t win the presidency and politics fall through I could get the band back together….

**April 1**

If Taeyong knew how much I loved him he’d run. Romantic or not, I’ve ruined any chance of being an option long ago.

**April 2**

Omg what if Taeyong LIKES me?

**April 4**

What if Taeyong loves me…..

**April 7**

I’m breaking both of our hearts.

Fuck.

**April 9**

Tomorrow is the election.

I don’t think I can give up Taeyong. I don’t know what to do.

**April 10**

I LOVE MY HUSBAND!

**April 11**

HRH Prince Consort Kim Doyoung, husband of HRH Prince Lee Taeyong.

I never thought I’d be here. I never thought I’d get to have a happy endi-

Sorry - my husband needs me…quite insatiable, that one.

**April 17**

I’m settling into my new life. It’s different, something I could have never had the balls to imagine, but it’s good. Fuck, every day knowing Taeyong loves me is a good one

Waking up each morning knowing the first set of brown eyes I see are his and being able to tell him I love him and his hair is an absolute mess starts every day off good. It’s even better when he climbs atop me and pouts.

Taking on the role of prince consort has been going smoother than expected. We haven’t released a statement yet, they’re planning to do so on the first of May. Of course, there will be people who don’t approve. But I think people will make the changes a lot easier because of how adored both of us are….at least I hope so.

President Kim has been such great support. God, I admire that woman. Not just anyone would step up into filling my role as our party’s leader. And her agreement (I stand by my statement that this isn’t shady because it’s for good, Taeyongie disagrees) to work with me closely is going well.

Once we come clean about the marriage, Ms. Kim has a one-year window to slowly implement legal changes, recognizing our country is progressing, and not even royalty is above the common populace. It’s going to be delicate work, but if anyone can do it, we can. I think the key will be framing it as: look, your prince and your most beloved media icon are married...it’s not bad….but also the royal family shouldn’t be treated special….let’s make everyone equal...or something….

Also, I don’t know what it is lately (probably my husband) but I keep finding myself with so much writing inspiration. I’ve always liked poetry and I try to think of my lyrics that way, even if they’re not good. With Taeyongie, I find things so easy to romanticize. He must be rubbing off on me (sometimes literally lol). But even the everyday moments together I can’t help but find special, every moment I’m with him is one where I know I’m doing something right. This is how things are meant to be. Being this happy, this challenge, this in love, cannot be wrong. 

Another easy slow tune that’s been in my head….and this same mantra has been in my head. I keep telling Taeyongie I don’t need anything but him. I trust him more than anyone else with anything. It’s always been him, and it’s so real it’s scary. But no matter what happens, nothing can change what we have. Our dreams as kids getting married have been fulfilled. And that’s kind of amazing.

_And what I see_

_White wine in your hand so comfortably_

_It's all a dream_

_You and I with the fancy cutlery_

_Oh mirror, mirror_

_It's what I fear_

_They're taking my spot right here_

_Oh, you're making me nervous right now_

_And all I'm asking_

_Is for some certainty_

_That this here's the way_

_It's supposed to be_

_I need, your love more than anything in this world_

_I need, your love more than anything in this world_

_I need, your love more than anything in this world_

_I need your love..._

**April 28**

Is it too early to ask Taeyong about kids???????

I’ll ask Jaehyun and then my sister-in-law. Hmmmmmmm

**April 30**

Tomorrow is the big day. I can tell Taeyong is terrified, but I’m not worried. Together we can do anything.

+

“What are you doing?”

Taeyong jumps, slamming his husband’s diary closed so fast the gush of air from the movement blows his bang’s off his face which is now burning hot. Caught in the act.

“Um…reading before bed?”

Doyoung is late coming home. He’d texted earlier saying he was caught in a meeting at the Blue House with the president. Which Taeyong had read as a chance to be home alone with his husband’s diary which he’d been given permission to peruse. A perfect chance to peek.

Taeyong had made tea, put on some sweats and climbed in bed ready to at least look at the first entry. He hadn’t meant to read so much. It was just addicting to be privy to his husband’s private thoughts over the past few months. And god, he was _not_ disappointed.

If anything, reading Doyoung’s diary had made him feel giddy. God, his husband was in love with him. And had been for a long ass time. It was very sexy.

“And what did you think?” Doyoung has a hand on his brow, and he’s gritting his teeth as he walks over to the closet. It takes Taeyong a minute to read this odd display on his husband, but then he realizes: Doyoung is _embarrassed_. 

Taeyong bites his lip, unsure how to proceed. He feels kind of guilty, despite having permission to read the diary. Maybe it was a test and he failed it. Still, the insight provided into his husband’s mind and his songs! He couldn’t say he regretted it.

“It was...cute.”

Suit jacket hung on a hanger, button-down hanging open to reveal a delicious display of smooth skin, Doyoung raises both of his brows. “Cute?”

Drinking in the sight of his husband undressing, Taeyong nods eagerly. “Yes. Saccharine yet sexy.”

With the word _sexy_ , something shift’s in Doyoung’s gaze. The corner of his lips twitch up, and slowly, he strides over to the end of the bed. “Come here.”

Without hesitation, Taeyong puts the diary aside and crawls to the end of the bed. He gets on his knees so they’re practically even in height. “I missed you.”

Doyoung’s lips curl into a smile and he reaches to stroke Taeyong’s hair tenderly. “Oh, is that why you finally decided to take a look at my diary? Because you missed me?” He’s teasing, of course, he is because he’s Doyoung.

“Yes,” Taeyong nods, leaning forward and capturing his husband’s mouth in an easy kiss, his hands resting on broad shoulders. “You are quite the writer. I like your poems. Or lyrics, I don’t know which they’re supposed to be. You should sing them for me.”

Doyoung sighs, still clearly embarrassed as he shrugs off his shirt. “They’re not much.”

Hands automatically reaching for his husband’s belt buckle, Taeyong says, “from you, I’m sure they’re more than enough. They’re sweet. _Romantic_.”

“Well,” Doyoung says, gaze darkening as he watches his husband’s nimble fingers move onto unclasp his trouser button. “They’re about you, what do you expect?”

Warmth spreads across Taeyong’s chest and he smiles, throwing his arms around his husband’s neck. “I expect nothing less from the man I love.”

Laughing, Doyoung falls into him and soon they’re a clumsy mess of limbs in bed, kissing. And between the kisses, they’re laughing. Doyoung is clearly still embarrassed about the circumstances and Taeyong so stupidly in love, it’s overwhelming. But it doesn’t take too long before they’re grabbing greedy handfuls of each other, desperate for more. Every time they’re in bed together it’s like they’re making up for lost time.

“Taeyongie,” Doyoung says in a rough voice, kicking off his trousers that been worked down to his ankles. “Take your fucking clothes off.”

“So romantic, Doie,” Taeyong teases but does it anyway. He would do anything Doyoung asked of him.

When they’re both naked, Doyoung tackles him again, pinning him down against the bed and kissing him roughly. Wet lips press against Taeyong’s chest, his throat, his mouth. His husband pulls every gasp and sigh he can out of Taeyong, already working hard to memorize his most sensitive parts.

Taeyong threads his hands through Doyoung’s dark hair, mussing up the styling without apology. He wants Doyoung as close as he can possibly get, he wants to breathe Doyoung in, have Doyoung be a part of him. 

It doesn’t take long for muscle memory to take over, hips grinding against each other and for hands to wander south. Taeyong wants Doyoung so bad, and nothing is more reassuring than the knowledge that his husband wants him back just as badly, rutting against him, hard and desperate.

“How do you want it tonight?” Doyoung asks, pulling away from their kiss.

Doyoung always asks this. And every damn time Taeyong is reminded that he made the right choice. No one cares for him like Doyoung does.

Besides, having sex with your best friend has its perks. Part of it is that sex with Doyoung is different ever time. Some days Taeyong wants nothing but to be wrecked, for it to be quick and rushed, rough against the nearest surface. Sometimes nothing gets him off faster than his husband singing softly in his ear, a hand wrapped around him. Or Taeyong stepping into the role of prince with all the authority it comes with, pushing his own limits for the sake of making Doyoung shake. Other nights it’s tender and sweet and Doyoung does his magic, ridding him of every anxiety, fear, and insecurity. 

Once in the back of the car on the way home from Busan, it had been harsh banter, talking back to each other, riling each other up, and eventually getting lost in one another. Every time is better than the last.

“Well, after the rockstar x groupie roleplay last night…” Taeyong muses, making a point to look like he’s putting a lot of thought into this, like the answer isn’t that it doesn’t matter as long as it’s Doyoung.

Doyoung swats at him playfully.

Taeyong giggles. He’s learned _a lot_ about Doyoung in the past few weeks, including his many fantasies centred around him, that were helpfully all recorded in his husband’s diaries. “I don’t know, Doie. You know I don’t care as long as it’s you. I want you close. I want to make you feel good. Make love to me.”

Something shifts in Doyoung’s dark gaze and then he’s kissing Taeyong again. This time hungrier, deeper, and more heated. There’s so much intent in the action, and in the gentle way his thumb ghosts over Taeyong’s lips until he opens wider and slips in his tongue.

Taeyong moans into Doyoung’s mouth until his husband pulls back once again, smirking. “Fingers in your mouth, babe. Get started.” Then he’s reaching over to the bedside table for a bottle of lube.

“Don’t tell me what to do, I’m the prince” He counters but obediently quickly pops two fingers into his mouth wetting them before reaching between his legs. And as soon as he starts, his eyes flutter shut, head falling back onto the pillows behind him. He’s like this every time, so overwhelming, even at the beginning.

“Fuck, Yongie,” Doyoung breathes from above him a minute later. “You should see yourself.”

Fire and need burn in his veins as Taeyong looks up at his husband kneeling between his legs, an absolute vision. Doyoung’s black hair is messy, his long neck red on his adam’s apple where Taeyong had kissed him too hard, his shoulders broad, his waist slim, his dick hard. And his dark lust-filled eyes locked on Taeyong.

“Going to fuck me or what?” Taeyong manages to ask, his best attempt at teasing while his mind is slowly becoming hazy with need.

“Of course,” Doyoung says seriously, replacing Taeyong’s hand with his own hand. “I will do that and more. I’m making love to you, remember?

And because Doyoung has never met a challenge he didn’t love, and Taeyong has never been less than a challenge, this will come naturally. That’s how things are between them, natural yet unpredictable. When they’re together like this every second is intoxicating and neither know where things will go, but as long as it’s together it will be steamy and passionate and most importantly, fun.

Doyoung is exceptionally skilled with his hands. Sinfully talented. 

With a hand wrapped around Taeyong, the other’s fingers within him, Doyoung is quick to reduce Taeyong from chanting his husband’s name to a string of gasping syllables. 

“Ready my prince?”

“Yes, yes, please.”

Doyoung grins at him, pleased at his work, despite Taeyong knowing he’s just as desperate to get off as he is. He reaches for the wipes Taeyong keeps on the bedside table, cleaning off his hands and then grabbing Doyoung’s and doing the same. Taeyong smiles fondly as he lets his husband clean his hand. 

He has Doyoung trained so well.

Eager, Doyoung is quick to resituate himself between Taeyong’s legs. He’s generous with the lube, on himself, on Taeyong, grinning shamelessly the entire time. He grabs a throw pillow and puts it under Taeyong’s back. “Are you comfortable?” He asks as if Taeyong doesn’t know his husband didn’t just put the pillow there for a better angle.

“Yes,” he nods. “Hurry up.”

“Demanding.”

“Doyoung I swear to fucking god if you don’t hurry up.”

“Patience,” Doyoung teases him. “You know all good things come with time.”

“This isn’t the damn time to be nagging me about virtues.”

Finally, Doyoung positions himself against Taeyong but doesn’t move further. Instead, he reaches for Taeyong’s hands, intertwining their fingers and bringing them above his head, leaning down to kiss him before finally, finally, pressing inside.

Against Doyoung’s mouth, Taeyong lets out a guttural sound. His eyes squeeze shut, his back arching, adjusting as millions of nerves within him are set ablaze.

“Good?”

“Fuck,” Taeyong manages, eyes watering. It’s not bad, it’s just _a lot_. “Give me a minute.”

“See… patience.” Doyoung takes the time to pepper Taeyong’s face in kisses. It’s distractingly sweet and perfect, and it doesn’t take long before Taeyong wants more.

“Doie,” he says, “come on.”

Leaning above him, Doyoung’s brows furrow slightly, even though Taeyong can tell how eager his husband is to snap his hips inside him. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Kissing him again, Doyoung finally begins to thrust into him, moving them slowly, rhythmically. But it doesn’t last long. He eventually leans back up, hands gripping harshly at Taeyong’s waist, speed increasing.

Moaning, Taeyong wraps his legs around Doyoung, trapping him, holding him close, wanting him as close as they can possibly get. He wraps a hand around his own dick, matching Doyoung’s thrusts so perfectly that tears well in his eyes.

“Fuck, fuck,” Doyoung pants out, sweat glistening on his hairline. “You feel so good, baby.”

Taeyong basks in the praise, in the feeling of Doyoung. It’s overwhelming, and he absolutely aches with pleasure.

The lewd sounds of their heavy breathing, Taeyong’s whines, and skin against skin fill the room.

“Turn over,” Doyoung says, pulling back. Gasping at the sudden emptiness, he does so quickly, turning to get on his hand and knees. “Fuck,” Doyoung breathes, grabbing a handful of ass (which isn’t much let’s be honest) appreciatingly.

Taeyong is painfully hard, eager for more. “ _Please_.”

That’s all it takes for Doyoung to grab his hips and press back in, no longer taking his time. It’s ruthless now, driving into Taeyong, blindly chasing pleasure.

“Hands,” Doyoung grunts after another few minutes, grabbing Taeyong’s arms.

Taeyong collapses into the mattress, face and chest pressed against the soft fabric, his ass in the air. Doyoung intertwines the fingers on both of their hands, has Taeyong at his mercy as he pulls, thrusting harder. He settles for placing Taeyong’s hands being his back, using it as leverage to fuck harder, deeper, faster.

 _“Please, please, please_ ,” Taeyong moans against the mattress, desperate to touch himself, to cum, for Doyoung to finish. He wants it all.

In a rough, wrecked voice Doyong tells him, “ _Almost_ , Yongie.”

Body burning with need, with pleasure, with desperation for release, Taeyong whines, back arching. “ _Please_ , Doie please, I need it so bad.”

Snapping his hips against Taeyong, Doyoung finally drops his hands. Instead, he leans forward, one braced against the bed, the other wrapping around Taeyongs’s neglected dick. And that’s all it takes - Taeyong is coming hard, eyes squeezing shut, his body wracked by hot-white waves of pleasure, his husband continuing to pound into him from behind.

“ _Fuck, fuck, fuck_ ,” Doyoung moans, voice low against Taeyong’s neck. His hips don’t stop, relentless. “God, you’re too fucking perfect.” 

And then finally, with a final snap of Doyoung’s hips, he comes, moaning low. Lying there exhausted and spent, Taeyong practically whimpers as Doyoung’s hips slow, flushing out every last moment of pleasure in his orgasm.

“God,” Taeyong groans when Doyoung finally rolls off of him, their chests heaving, pulses still racing. “How am I supposed to walk tomorrow?”

Doyoung laughs because he’s Doyoung. “Not my problem.”

“Fuck you, honestly.” Taeyong shoots him a dirty look but chuckles, reaching for his husband, pulling him close for another kiss.

After they clean up they curl against each other under the blankets, exhausted and satiated. But it doesn’t take long for Taeyong’s mind to wander to his anxieties.

“You were right,” Taeyong whispers into the darkness.

Against his neck, Doyoung hums. “I know, love, but can you be a bit more specific?”

A smile flickers across Taeyong’s face for a quick moment, amused. But it doesn’t last. “For tomorrow. I’m scared of what will happen. What if everyone hates me? Us? I don’t want to bring shame and scandal. The media will eat it up and you how people are online-”

“Anyone who hates you is a fool and karma will take care of them,” Doyoung says. “Don’t worry about the bad. It’s scary but you will have me every step of the way, don’t forget that.”

“I know.”

“You’ll do amazing tomorrow. If it gets too much I can always step in. Just try to think about the long-term. Think about me. Think about the good that will come of this, how much doing this will matter for so many people who were like you once.”

Taeyong frowns. “What do you mean?”

Hand rubbing Taeyong’s hip, Doyoung sighs. “I mean people who had written off their own happiness for following the expectations of others. Now go to sleep, my love. We have a big day tomorrow.”

+

ROYAL COMMUNICATIONS

**PRESS RELEASE**

May 1, 2020

**THE MARRIAGE OF HRH PRINCE TAEYONG AND MR. KIM DOYOUNG**

Their Royal Highnesses Prince Lee Taeyong and Prince Consort Doyoung are very pleased to announce their marriage. Both of their families have been informed and are delighted at the news. Prince Taeyong and Prince Consort Doyoung are grateful for the goodwill they have received thus far and look forward to the continuous support from people throughout the Republic of Korea and around the world.

Their Royal Highnesses made the personal decision to keep the circumstances of their wedding private, deviating from traditional royal marriage customs but are now pleased to announce the news. They ask to be welcomed with open and accepting hearts, seeking understanding, acceptance, and love from the country they love.

United, their Royal Highnesses will continue to serve the Republic of Korea and its people, focusing on charitable efforts, as well as policy consultation from Prince Consort Doyoung.

Prince Taeyong and Prince Consort Doyoung look forward to further sharing the exciting news with the public in a press conference later today.

+

Backstage, Taeyong’s stomach is in a knot so tight he fears he’ll never recover. He’s never been this nervous before. He genuinely fears he might empty his stomach onto his heather grey suit, ruining his white button-up and silk black tie. A laundry nightmare.

“We’ve got this, love,” Doyoung says softly with a small smile. He reaches out and takes Taeyong’s hand, intertwining their fingers and giving a gentle squeeze. “Remember that no matter what happens, I love you.”

Taeyong lets out a deep breath, looking into his husband’s dark eyes. He is right. Together they can get through this. Doyoung is his anchor and together they can weather any storm. He will keep Taeyong steady, he will support him, care for him. And Taeyong will do the best he can do to deserve such love. And he will try to repay it back equally and then some because Doyoung deserves nothing less.

“You ready?” Jaehyun asks, joining them. No one is less surprised at them ending up together than Jaehyun. “You’re on in three.”

The press conference had been the King’s idea, and Doyoung had fully supported it. A press release was not enough, not under these exceptional circumstances.

Taeyong understands, but it doesn’t stop the fear rolling in his belly. So many people will hate him for this. Doyoung will lose so many supporters. He doesn’t even want to think of the political repercussions. 

His husband squeezes his hand again.

Doyoung loves him. He loves Doyoung. Something this right could not be wrong.

There would be so many changes following this. While laws against same-sex “activity” had never existed in the ROK, gay men were prohibited from serving in the military. A harmful stigma for any Korean man due to the pride and rite of passage around military service. Additionally, there’s no legal recognization of same-sex relationships, marriage, nor could they adopt children. Laws protecting LGBTQ+ people from discrimination were limited, varying across the country.

But in this grey area, the royal family was above the law. Taeyong as the prince could marry whomever he wanted, and well, seventeen years ago he’d chosen his best friend Doyoung and he’d never regret that. However, in the twenty-first century, despite the cultural hierarchy their country was rooted in, having royalty possess such rights while no one else wouldn’t hold up.

Doyoung in the past weeks since dropping out of the election and allowing his fellow party member Ms. Kim steps into the role and win the presidency had been carefully planning the political maneuver which would take place in the following few months. Taeyong was terrified, whereas Doyoung was determined. If he couldn’t lead the country from the Blue House he would lead the country in setting an example of strength, fighting for your beliefs, and putting your money (and policy) where your mouth was.

Of course, none of it would just happen. There would be so much effort to go into the law reform process. Consultation teams on public opinion, the strategic release of carefully designed ads, lots of public appearances from the two of them. It would be like Doyoung’s campaigning but instead of twenty-three days, it would be for several months, maybe a year. Probably longer, if Taeyong was being honest.

It was fine though, he is happy to do his part. He understands why it was important. Anything Doyoung is passionate about he will fully support, as the prince, as his best friend, as his husband.

Taeyong takes another deep breath, the ring in his trouser pocket feeling incredibly heavy.

He has Doyoung. He has this family and Doyoung’s. He has Jaehyun, Seulgi, and all his other friends. He has the support of so much of the palace staff and Doyoung’s former party. They can do this. They have to do this. The only other option was not being married, and for Taeyong, that isn’t an option.

“Ready?” Doyoung asks, dark eyes sparkling in excitement. His mouth twitches up on the side with the scar, and god, it’s all the assurance Taeyong needs. Doyoung looks like a prince in his dark navy suit and angled striped tie. His dark hair is carefully parted to the side and styled to frame his handsome face. He even let the royal make-up noonas go a little heavy-handed with his makeup for the camera, his eyes carefully haloed in cool brown tones.

“One minute.” Jaehyun relays to them.

“Yes,” Taeyong nods. He’s terrified but ready. With Doyoung by his side, he can do anything. “Let’s do this.”

Jaehyun gives him a hopeful smile, patting his own trouser pocket in solitary. “And we’re live. Go.”

Hand in hand, the prince and his husband walk out to the podium, ready to take the world by storm.

“Good afternoon everyone,” Taeyong begins in his well-practiced public-speaking voice once he’s behind the podium. He looks out into the room. It’s packed with reporters and cameras and microphones, as well as the official royal broadcast relaying them live. “My husband and I thank you all for coming here and for tuning into this special press conference.”

Doyoung leans slightly towards one of the many mics. “We realize these exceptional circumstances of our marriage have resulted in many questions and today after my husband gives a short statement we hope to answer as many of our questions as possible.”

Their use of “husband” is no accident. Another direct result of careful political planning and writing. Taeyong doesn’t mind though. He likes calling Doyoung his husband. A lot.

Smiling, Taeyong nods to indicate the start of the statement. “First, we wish to ask your forgiveness for keeping the circumstances of relationship and marriage private, especially considering the Prince Consort’s involvement in the presidential election. We realize that many people were greatly disappointed in his choice to withdraw from the election, and again, we ask to seek your understanding around this decision.”

Camera’s flash.

Taeyong takes a measured breath, aware of all the eyes on him, including his father’s from the side. “As many of you have recently learned, our marriage is a fluke in privilege deriving from ancient royal law. However, as you may have guessed from my husband’s past political career, our position of being exceptional and above the law of the rest of the people of our country is not something that rests easy with us.”

Suddenly there is the soft pressure of Doyoung’s hand on the small of his back. Taeyong understands its meaning: _I got you. We’re in this together._

“We hope to take this opportunity to address a gap within our great country’s law and policy to reconsider the position of same-sex marriage and gaps other minority rights.”

There are sounds from the crowd, even in this professional tightly secured group of people. Gasps. Murmurs. Taeyong knows many people won’t approve. But he isn’t doing this for them.

“Furthermore,” he says, glancing up at the crowd. “As our wedding did not follow traditional royal custom-” Doyoung manages to hide his chuckle in a heavy blow of air out of his nose in a silent snort. “-we realize that many may feel left out of the celebration. For this, I hope to make amends now.”

Doyoung gives him a side glance, dark eyes confused. He doesn’t know what Taeyong has planned. His family and Jaehyun do though. They supported this choice.

Heart pounding loud in his ears, Taeyong reaches into his pocket and retrieves the centuries-old ring he’d had sized. “I would like to share this moment with everyone.”

He turns to his handsome husband, who is looking slightly ridiculous with his mouth hanging open cutely and his eyes narrowed, brows knitting together. He is as confused as everyone else. Taeyong grabs Doyoung’s hand and raises it for the cameras.“Your Highness, I wish to present you with the ring of the royal family. I also wish for it to be our couple ring, as it was a step we missed along the winding road of our relationship.”

Doyoung does chuckle softly at this, eyes crinkling with his smile, clearly amused. “As a symbol of commitment and love, as well as status as a member of the royal family, please accept this ring, my love.”

“Of crouse,” Doyoung tells him, smile widening as Taeyong slides the ring down his husband’s slender finger and past his bony joint. “Anything for you, my prince.”

Later, Taeyong finds out it is Jaehyun who starts it, but soon they are surrounded by applause and shouted congratulations.

It seems surreal. He and Doyoung have done the impossible. They grin at each other, basking in this moment, forgetting the cameras and everything else.

Chest swelling with affection, Taeyong cannot believe that the hopeless romantic prince constrained by expectation and custom gets a happy ending. Doyoung chose him, and Taeyong will always choose Doyoung. It’s comically far from a traditional love story, but Taeyong doesn’t mind.

“Best friends,” Taeyong says, taking Doyoung’s other hand in his as well.

“Husbands.” Doyoung counters with a smirk.

“Soulmates.”

Nodding, Doyoung agrees. “Soulmates.”

He and Doyoung are soulmates, never destined to be the boring kind of lovers where everything is easy. Instead, they’re sugar and spice, yin and yang, a constant game of push and pull, give and take. No one cares for Taeyong the way Doyoung does, no will support him like Doyoung does, no will keep things as interesting as Doyoung will.

Taeyong likes to think that they didn’t have a choice in any of this. That, in the end, it was always going to be Doyoung, and they were just taking the winding path to find each other again. Maybe it was written in the stars. Maybe it’s fate. And honestly? Taeyong doesn’t care as long as he has Doyoung.

+

“Hyung! Slow down!”

Taeyong steals a quick glance behind him as he runs across the palace courtyard. His nephew is trailing after him, grinning widely. “Better run faster!”

Ahead of him, Doyoung’s long legs are a blur as he sprints. “Lil slow ass!” He laughs.

“Hyung!” Their nephew calls out again, sounding out of breath.

Taeyong slows his pace, just enough that the crown prince won’t know he’s being let to win. “Ah!” he calls out when his nephew slaps his back.

“Tag! You’re it!”

Huffing, Taeyong slows, leaning on his knees and catching his breath. “When did you get so fast?”

Grinning, his nephew shrugs. “I’m growing! I’m real fast!”

“You’re faster than Yongie, that’s for sure,” Doyoung says, joining them with a knowing grin. He won’t ever let the young prince win on a manner of principle, nephew or not.

“Boys!”

They all turn and find the queen, manicured hands on her hips. “It’s someone’s bedtime.”

“Eomma!” Taeyong’s nephew whines. “Please can we keep playing for five minutes? I swear I almost got both uncles this time!”

“It’s bedtime for your uncles too,” she tells them with a pointed looking, demanding reinforcements on this matter. “Right, Taeyongie?”

“Right,” he nods, seriously. “It is getting late. Bedtime for everyone.”

With a pout, Taeyong’s nephew sighs and follows the queen inside. “Night, uncles.”

“Goodnight!” Doyoung calls out with a wave. Then he turns to his husband and offers a salacious wink, his dark eyes like magnetics still pulling Taeyong in. “Well, shall I steal you for bed as well?”

Taeyong resists the urge to roll his eyes and starts heading towards the palace building that hosts their living quarters (they were assigned their own official household a year after their marriage announcement). “Steal me? How barbaric, Doie.”

“How about steal you and ravish you in the moonlight on these ancient palace grounds?” Doyoung asks, grinning. “Wouldn’t that be romantic?”

The idea is appealing, Taeyong will not lie. The spark between them hasn’t died, and he doubts it ever will. Sometimes he tries to imagine how things will be in fifty years when they’re both old and grey. Still teasing, still happy, still in love. That’s the benefit of marrying your best friend, Taeyong supposes.

He decides to play it coy as they pass some of the palace staff. He just can’t immediately give into every impulse Doyoung has, that would take all the fun out of their relationship. “I don’t know…”

Doyoung, shameless, ignores the presence of the other people. “I’ll make it really good for you, my prince, my darling husband,” Doyoung promises, reaching out for his hand. “ _Hours_ of pleasure.”

Taeyong’s face burns red as the palace staff turn away, covering their knowing smiles. He swears Doyoung does this just to get a rise out of him. And it’s working.

“I _will_ fight you!”

Doyoung pouts at him, pulling at Taeyong’s hand and bringing them to a stop. “ _Yongie_ ,” he says, bringing Taeyong’s hand to his lips and pressing a firm kiss into the soft skin. “Please just let me show you,” he says.

And he suddenly grabs Taeyong and throws him over his broad shoulder.

“Hey! Let me go!” Taeyong calls out, shocked. He’s laughing, hitting at his husband’s back, appalled and amused all at the same time. “This is _treason_!”

Doyoung races up the steps of their shared quarters, ignoring his husband’s pleas for release and any stares they’ve garnered. “Shut up!” Doyoung tells him. “I’m literally a member of the royal family!”

**+**

**May 10**

Things have been going better than planned. I'm honestly kind of shocked at the response in the media (Jaehyun has ALL the juicy news). I keep teasing Yongie, keep riling him up until he pushes me down and .....well, let's just say I'm disgustingly happy.

It’s not like I wasn’t happy before, saying that would be unfair.

It’s just now that I have Taeyong and his love, I don’t think anything could ever compare. Every day is sweeter than the previous, our laughter and banter fill the palace grounds, the city, this whole damn country. 

And Taeyongie, if you’re reading this sometime in the future … I’m sure I’ve somehow managed to fall even more in love with your sweetness. Come find me and I’ll prove it to you. <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you made it this far i'd just like to say thank you :)

**Author's Note:**

> find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/wizardwonu)


End file.
